Thirdboy
by tyrnfrd
Summary: On the night of the attack on DeVir, Nalfein is not killed, but Drizzt is still not sacrificed to the Spider Queen. Follow the only Thirdboy outside of the First House as he learns to live in the treacherous city of the drow.
1. Menzoberranzan

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Forgotten Realms setting, nor any of R.A. Salvatore's characters.**

* * *

 **Menzoberranzan:**

Nalfein Do'Urden smirked inwardly as he watched his brother leave the protection of their compound, the arrogant secondboy weaving his lizard mount up and down the walls like a madman in order to avoid being tracked. Nalfein allowed himself a brief moment to indulge his feeling of superiority, then silently cast a dweomer, granting himself invisibility. He slipped out of the gate and strolled through the city, not worrying for a second about being tracked.

Nalfein knew of his brother's destination and task, but he was on a personal mission, a mission to visit an old acquaintance. Friend was too strong a word for the relationship between Nalfein Do'Urden and Veraz, formerly of No House Worth Mentioning, now of Bregan D'Aerthe, but of the twenty-thousand drow elves in the underground city of Menzoberranzan, Nalfein believed that Veraz was the least likely to want him dead.

He eventually reached the stalagmite in which they had planned to meet, and conducted his business rapidly with his companion, followed by conducting their pleasureable affairs at a more leisurely pace. However, with the appointed time fast approaching, Nalfein was forced to hurry home, having once again cast a dweomer of invisibility to hide his steps from any unwanted onlookers.

* * *

The Do'Urden private chapel was almost full when Nalfein arrived. His mother, heavily pregnant, was reclining at the head of the eight-legged stone spider that served as the altar of House Daermon N'a'Shezbaernon. His three sisters and four common priestesses filled the other places at the altar, and all were deep already into their supplications to the Spider Queen. The remaining space in the private chapel was taken up by the male hierarchy of the family: Rizzen, Matron Malice's patron, Zaknafein, the legendary Weapon Master of House Do'Urden, and now himself. Unsurprisingly, the arrogant but not necessarily talented secondboy was not yet back from his mission. A drow of less self-control than Nalfein would have rocked back and forth on his heels in frustration. Shaking himself from his reverie, Nalfein noticed that the patron, Rizzen, was doing just that. Nalfein sneered inwardly with scorn. While he knew that Rizzen was supposedly his father, he couldn't help feeling himself above Malice's current lover. Nalfein was under no illusions that Malice had had only one lover at a time, and couldn't help but think that perhaps, like Vierna, his parentage was questionable. He was not Zaknafein's son, that was certain, but neither did he believe he could be related to such a snivelling idiot as Rizzen, regardless of how handsome they both were. Malice had had many lovers.

Dinin finally arrived, and Maya took Nalfein outside, casting the meld with him, before she returned to the chapel, and he joined his troops. Finely honed magical senses allowed Nalfein to sense Zaknafein as he was transported in the body of an air elemental far above the troops, and Nalfein's wizards followed the elemental on the way to House DeVir. For the most part under dweomers of invisibility, the wizards could move much faster and more directly than their mundane counterparts under Dinin's command, and they passed within arms-reach of a number of houses built in stalagmites or mushroom groves.

* * *

It was some time before battle was finally joined, and for appearances' sake, Nalfein and his wizards surrounded the DeVir estate in darkness before striding forwards and cutting apart the defenders with powerful dweomers of lightning, ice, and fire. Nalfein's black heart sang as he watched his enemies fall, screams on their lips, dying agonizingly slow and painful deaths.

Eventually, the battle was over and Nalfein was visited by Dinin, crowing over their success. The elderboy merely raised an eyebrow at the secondboy's antics and self-acclaim, until the moment that the secondboy shouted 'Alert!'. Nalfein's eyes widened as he turned to look, only to receive a dagger in the back.

Dinin's victorious feelings swelled as his dagger penetrated his brother's back. The elation rapidly turned to horror, however, as he looked down and saw the body shimmer and then blink out of existence. In the chapel, first Vierna, then Maya, felt elation, although only Vierna's elation was rapidly followed by horror and disappointment. The rapid emotional changes inflicted on her caused her to lose her balance, already at her physical limits following the exhausting ritual. She fell into the side of her sister as Briza was bringing down the obsidian sacrificial knife on the newborn babe, the purple-eyed Drizzt. With the new impulse, the knife flew wide of the babe and shattered on the spider altar. Briza went to stab the child with one of the shards, but Matron Malice cried out for her to stay the blade. "Lloth has shown us her desire," explained Malice. "The babe lives, to join the other thirdson born this year. Baenre has Berg'inyon as the third son of the first house, Drizzt shall be the third son of the ninth house." Silence reigned in the chapel before Briza finally began to protest, prompting the weary Malice to speak over her. "Lloth has spoken," Malice repeated. "The child lives. Vierna shall be its wean-mother, until the day that the boy becomes sixteen. Then Do'Urden will have a thirdson to rival Baenre. We have done well this day, and Lloth is pleased."


	2. Weaning

**Weaning:**

The first ten years in the life of the youngest member of House Do'Urden passed in a blur for his older sister, Vierna. The purpose of the ten years of weaning was to teach drow children about the rules of their dark world, both spoken and unspoken, but Vierna often found herself smiling with pride at her young charge. On the rare occasions on which she caught herself doing so Vierna would remind her charge with harsh words of the inferiority of males, and of the necessity to a drow of having a mind clear of all emotions but ambition, and hatred for one's enemies. But she could never bring herself to reinforce such lessons with her snake-headed whip, and thus it was that shortly afterwards Drizzt would return to his antics, and her own smile would return.

By the end of ten years however, when Drizzt left her care to serve the court of Matron Malice as a page prince, the lessons his sister had struggled to impress upon him had been sufficiently learned during those long years in the Do'Urden chapel that Matron Malice had no cause to whip him, at least for a few days.

The first whipping the young drow experienced was the day after that year's class had graduated from Sorcere. Drizzt was waiting on Matron Malice's court in the Do'Urden throne room, as was his custom. However, on this day there was a visitor whom the young drow had not seen in many years, a master of Sorcere, the firstboy Nalfein Do'Urden. In his excitement, Drizzt forgot his place for only a moment, but his slight glance up was noticed by both Matron Malice and his sister, Briza. The two high priestesses looked at each other, and Briza had already unhooked the many-headed snake whip from her belt before Malice had even nodded her assent to the whipping. The blows were fast and strong, and the young drow cried out in greater and greater pain with each strike. Eventually the cries ceased, even as the blows did not, as Drizzt slipped mercilessly into unconsciousness.

* * *

Drizzt eventually awoke in an unfamiliar location. Opening his eyes, he saw yards of cloth, rather than smooth stone above his head. As he adjusted to the pain, he noticed two male drow in the tent with him. Both held staves, but one was clearly of noble birth, set apart by the fine threading on his _piwafi_ and the intricate carving of his staff, while the other appeared almost like a cleric, something that Drizzt could not comprehend, as clerics of Lloth could only be female. Drizzt could only contain himself for a few moments before he burst out with his first question.

"Why are you dressed like a priestess?" the young drow asked woozily, "And who are you?"

The nobly-dressed drow laughed, a cold, hard sound, inflected with only the slightest traces of humor, before answering. "Don't you recognize me, thirdboy? Has it been so long that Drizzt has forgotten Nalfein?"

"Nalfein? It is you! Where are we? Will Matron Malice not be angry that I am not attending her court?"

Nalfein laughed the cold, hard laugh again. "I have Matron Malice's permission, young one. I have been allowed to remove you from the Do'Urden compound for a few days to help you understand our world. I promised our mother that she would have no more problems from you upon your return when she agreed to this trip, and I do not expect to be made a liar. Is that clear?" Drizzt nodded slowly, and Nalfein barked out yet another short, harsh laugh. "Good. Now, this is my close acquaintance Veraz, of Bregan D'Aerthe. He is not a priestess, but a cleric."

"Bregan D'Aerthe? There is no house Breagan D'Aerthe, nor a house Bregan, nor a house D'Aerthe. I know, Vierna taught me all the houses!" Drizzt drew breath to continue, but Nalfein mumbled something and he found himself suddenly unable to produce any sound at all.

"The first lesson," warned Nalfein, "is that you will control yourself at all times. Speak only when spoken to, or when it is indicated that you may. The consequences that I inflict will be far less than the least punishment dealt out by a priestess. The second lesson is that patience can be a much stronger asset than any quantity of knowledge or skill. A lesson," Nalfein mused, "that your other brother has yet to learn.

"Now! We are here so that you may learn of our society. Veraz is a member of Bregan D'Aerthe. Bregan D'Aerthe is not a noble house, but a mercenary band. They sell their swords, their magic, and their clerical abilities to the highest bidder. Questions?"

Drizzt felt the dweomer of silence lift, but schooled his excitement enough to enunciate a single, clear question. "How can he be a cleric if he's a _he_? Vierna told me that males are not worthy to be clerics."

At this question, Veraz finally moved, and spoke with a deep, melodious voice, much different to Nalfein's harsh rasp. "I am not a cleric of Lloth, child. I am one of the faithful of Eilistraee." Veraz went on to explain, to rapt attention, the faith of the daughter of Lloth, the pantheon of the drow elves, the Dark Seldarine, and the pantheon of the surface elves, the Seldarine.

Once Veraz finished his explanation, Nalfein explained to Drizzt that while followers of Eilistraee were tolerated by the chaos-loving Lloth, that neither Nalfein himself nor Drizzt could ever be worshippers of the Dark Maiden. "As nobles of Menzoberranzan," Nalfein explained, "It is our duty and our privilege to serve Lloth. And as Lloth demands, we must do. You know that thirdboys are rare in Menzoberranzan. Only yourself and Berg'inyon Baenre in all of Menzoberranzan. Thirdboys are sacrificed to Lloth at her demand. Our mother and sisters were ready to sacrifice you too, but at Lloth's command Briza stayed her hand. You live at Lloth's sufferance."

Drizzt had sat still through all the explanations, but this was too much for him, although he tried valiantly to rein in his emotions. As a reward for his effort, Nalfein forwent the silencing dweomer and instead allowed Drizzt to ask a question, of what had happened on the night of his birth.

Nalfein's explanation was long, and Drizzt was shocked by it, especially the ending in which his elder brother attempted to assassinate his eldest brother, only to be foiled by an illusion cast by Veraz himself. Nalfein took great pleasure in watching the thirdboy's innocence crumble, but hid his emotions in favor of a veneer of almost-sympathy, the closest the cold-hearted drow could come to a warm emotion. How easy it had been, the firstboy thought to himself, to break Drizzt's bonds to the family females and encourage loyalty to himself, by only the simple act of sharing the truth. Not to mention that those same truths had turned the still somewhat innocent child against Dinin forever.

Drizzt's beaten body had been healed by Veraz, but the whipping had still taken it's toll, and Drizzt tired quickly, so Nalfein brought the tales to an end, wanting to impart his most important message while Drizzt was still aware enough to comprehend it. "Remember, thirdboy, drow operate solely from ambition. You and I have nothing to gain from harm befalling the other, because I can never be thirdboy, with the prestige of Lloth's personal favor, and you will not be firstboy, because either Dinin or I would kill you to defend the position the moment the other died. But remember also that thirdboy is the highest a drow male can go, and that all other drow will seek to tear you down to lessen their own distance to the top. Now it is time for you to sleep."

Drizzt was about to protest, but Nalfein murmured a string of syllables and Drizzt felt a dweomer of sleep fall on him before he could summon up a single sound. Veraz looked on and smiled sadly, before whispering tenderly in his deep voice, "I am sure I will see you again, young one."


	3. Two-Hands

**Two-Hands:**

The years passed slowly for the young Drizzt, who spent his time alternating between serving at his mother's side and doing menial work around the Do'Urden compound, especially in the chapel, which was deemed to sacrosanct to be worked on by any of the commoners of the house. The few respites from boredom that Drizzt had were on the special days where Nalfein would spirit him away from the compound for half a cycle of Narbondel, taking him on visits to the sights of Menzoberranzan. Drizzt was awed by the massive spiderweb fence of the Baenre compound, enchanted by the fairie fire limning the neary compounds at night time, enraptured by the skills of the males of Bregan D'Aerthe, and both terrified and horrified by the kobold warrens and goblin huts on the edge of the Clawrift. Surprisingly for Nalfein, Drizzt's favorite moments were when the elderboy lit his candles to study the wizarding spells he needed to serve as a Master of Sorcere. Drizzt's lack of aversion to the painful light was a source of wonder to Nalfein, and of particular interest to Veraz, who had on occasion met light-tolerant drow elves of the surface in his service to Eilistraee.

Eventually, however, Drizzt's time as a page prince came to an end, and on his sixteenth birthday he was once again summoned to Matron Malice's throne room, keeping his gaze lowered as always. Malice seemed in an unusually good mood that day, which had Drizzt apprehensive, as Malice's good moods almost always involved causing someone, generally a male, pain. Drizzt had learned early on as a page prince to read Malice's mood, assisted on occasions by subtle signals in the intricate drow hand and facial code from Zaknafein and Nalfein, the two males in the house who did not seem to see Drizzt as a threat. Drizzt occasionally even caught a glimpse of a strange signal on Zaknafein's face of which he did not know the meaning. He would later come to learn the look of the Do'Urden weapon master struggling to hold in laughter and a brilliant smile.

Malice's good mood indeed lasted only moments, and soon she was physically reinforcing in Drizzt the lesson that he was no longer a servant. The good mood, however, returned as Malice announced her plans for the young drow's future. "You will study under Nalfein as a wizard," Malice told him, although her face, and her wicked smile, were directed at Zaknafein during her statement. "House Do'Urden has plentiful swordsmen, but we are lacking in the wizardly arts. Matron Baenre is far to proud of her son Gromph, the archmage of Menzoberranzan. We shall train you, Do'Urden's thirdboy and the proof of Lloth's favor, as his challenger." Drizzt couldn't quite restrain his excitement at the idea of spending all of his time with his doting brother, with whom he never needed to fear a knife in the back, but his danger sense began tingling as Zaknafein spoke up and the tension in the chapel rose to a palpable level. "The boy is not a wizard," Zaknafein growled. "He doesn't have the detachment for the magical arts. See how long it took him to learn the position of page prince, and how long it is taking him to return to his natural nobility. Give him to me, I will train his natural grace and willful instincts into the finest weapon master Menzoberranzan has ever seen. This is the way that he will be," the weapon master faltered, and swallowed before stating with a well concealed but not completely concealed look of distaste, "the greatest credit to the Spider Queen's favor. Not to mention that Baenre's thirdboy will also be a swordsman," Zaknafein continued, "or at least so Jarlaxle tells me." This caught Malice's attention, and the Do'Urden matriarch partially acquiesced to Zaknafein's demands.

"Do you propose a test then, Zaknafein," the matron questioned, and the with a wicked smile added, "and the usual wager, perhaps?" Not for the first time that day, a look of horror crossed the Weapon Master's face, but he acquiesced, before taking two coins from the pouch around his neck and handing them to the young drow. "Flip them," the Weapon Master instructed, his tone softening as he spoke to Drizzt. "This is for your future, so do it well." Drizzt looked up to Nalfein, seeking reassurance that he should pass the test, and not fail purposefully, and the elderboy flashed him a quick hand signal of "Succeed."

From the moment that Zaknafein had raised his objection, Nalfein was obliged to swiftly sort out his feelings on Drizzt's fate. While the elderboy wanted to keep his young brother close-by and ensure Drizzt's continued loyalty, Zaknafein was not an enemy any drow elf wanted to have, especially not when the elder drow was so clearly concerned with his unacknowledged son's future. Furthermore, Drizzt would be more useful working in complement with Nalfein, rather than as a direct challenger to his position as House Wizard. Should the boy ever develop a sense of ambition, Nalfein would far rather it were Dinin and Zaknafein in Drizzt's direct path than himself. Thus the Do'Urden wizard encouraged his youngest brother to succeed in whatever test Zaknafein had planned.

The test concluded quickly, with the Do'Urden Weapon Master jovially claiming that he had no more coins for the young thirdboy to flip, and Malice grudgingly conceding defeat. Drizzt was saddened that he would not be able to spend more time with Nalfein, but Zaknafein had always treated him kindly, and his mood was improved greatly when, on leaving Malice's throne room, the Weapon Master flashed him a grin and a wink before pulling another five coins out of his neck pouch. "I didn't think it would be such a good idea to push our luck," the elder drow explained, returning the coins, along with those that Drizzt still held, to his pouch, "but I am glad that you will not be wasted as a wizard. For all their flashy abilities, they bleed like any other drow, and a thousand cuts can be made by one such as myself in the time it takes for a single dweomer to be successfully cast." With his speech over and their journey complete, Zaknafein threw open the door to the training hall of the Do'Urden complex with a flourish.

"Welcome to your home."


	4. Malice

**Malice:**

As Zaknafein led Drizzt out of Malice's throne room, Nalfein lingered behind only a moment before catching his mother's eye and casting a dweomer of invisibility. Matron Malice smiled her approval and Nalfein slipped out of the room to follow Zaknafein, from a cautious distance, of course. Zaknafein was well-known to be skilled enough to track another drow's movements without needing to see them, and would not take kindly to an invisible observer.

Meanwhile, in the throne room, Malice was inwardly congratulating herself. Of all her children, Nalfein was the one closest to herself in temperament. Briza was too violent and irrational, Maya too childish, Dinin too arrogant. Nalfein, like herself, was cunning and ambitious, and would be a credit to the ambitions of the house. She had paid attention to the subtle interaction between her youngest son and her eldest, and trusted the elderboy's judgment that Drizzt would do better under Zaknafein's tutelage than his own. But the elderboy had shown that he was still taking an interest in her third son, and that Malice approved of. Drizzt and Vierna showed too much of their father at times, but while Nalfein could do nothing to repair her daughter's softness and lack of true ambition, perhaps he could teach her youngest son to fit into his role as a drow male and a paragon for the Spider Queen. The softness that afflicted Zaknafein and Vierna was a family trait that had on occasion afflicted her predecessor, Matron Vartha, but where Malice had avoided the curse, Zaknafein had inherited it in its full force, and it had been reinforced by Vartha's early death and Zaknafein's closeness in Melee-Magthere with the unconventional Baenre rebel, Jarlaxle.

Malice sighed to herself as she reclined in her seat and her daughters filed out the door, leaving her alone with Rizzen. Malice's favored patron of her long reign had been Zaknafein, but due to both their continual disputes and a number of children born with birth defects from the closeness of their relation, Malice had been forced to take a new patron and utilize Zaknafein as merely an occasional lover. Nevertheless, he had given her two exceptionally talented children, though both showed signs of Zaknafein's softness, and Drizzt's unusual eyes had given her cause for concern. Rizzen was certainly handsome, and had none of Zaknafein's softness, but her three children for whom Rizzen was the most likely father were rather less skilled than Zaknafein's children. The only child she was completely satisfied with was Nalfein, though he was unfortunately a male, and thus could never take her place at the head of the house. Her eldest son was believed by most to also be Rizzen's son, but this was for his own protection. Other than the father, Matron Malice and Zaknafein were the only ones who knew the truth of Nalfein's parentage. Shaking her head softly, Malice cleared her mind of these worthless thoughts and snapped her whip from her belt, catching Rizzen with its multiple snake heads. While she was now extremely above the usual drow childbearing age, Drizzt's birth had shown that Malice had Lloth's favor almost to the extent of Matron Baenre, who had borne more than twenty daughters. Malice was determined to have another child, hopefully a daughter this time, and nothing got her in the mood for an attempt like drawing some blood from her patron.

Rizzen's screams echoed faintly down the hallways of the Do'Urden compound to where Nalfein stood, invisibly watching Drizzt as the young drow was introduced to the Weapon Master's hall and tried his hand at a number of the weapons in Zaknafein's magnificent collection. The Do'Urden thirdboy showed magnificent natural talent with the weapons, although some, such as a mighty halberd seemingly acquired from one of the tall surface races, were simply too unwieldy for the child to control, and Drizzt ended up on the floor from the momentum more than once. Nalfein, however, was more interested in the reaction of Zaknafein, who, having left the child alone for his first moments handling the weapon, was now observing Drizzt with a strange expression on his face. Had he not been so well acquainted with Veraz, Nalfein would not have recognized it. Pride was not an expression with which the denizens of Menzoberranzan were familiar.

Nalfein had cast the strongest dweomer of invisibility that he knew, and as a powerful wizard, he was able to watch Drizzt's first moments of tutelage under the cover of invisibility. But no dweomer of invisibility was powerful enough to hide a drow elf forever, and so Nalfein was forced to eventually retreat from his observation of the father and son. Before he left, though, Nalfein cast another dweomer, this time an illusion of a beautiful drow female whom he had once encountered and who would be instantly recognizable to Zaknafein. Nalfein was grateful for his invisibility to cover the smirk that erupted on his face as the Do'Urden Weapon Master nearly dropped both his swords, leaving himself completely open for the novice Drizzt to make contact with both of his padded training scimitars in Zaknafein's belly. Before Zaknafein had time to react, or Drizzt could turn around, the illusion blinked out of existence and Nalfein was beating a hasty retreat down the corridor towards his chambers. Malice would love to hear this tale, if Zaknafein left him alive to tell it.

 **Author's Note:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter. You'd better have enjoyed it, because I wrote it rather than paying attention in class. Anyway, it doesn't matter too much, but if any of my at least 48 visitors (so far) would like to leave a review, follow, or favorite this story, that would be great. I do get alerts when you do so, and it gives me a nice little jolt of happiness every time. It's not difficult, so make me happy! Also, if you didn't get it, in this story Malice and Zaknafein are siblings. _I claim_ that they are canonically as well, and I do have a citation for that if anyone's interested. Bonus points for guessing who Nalfein's father will turn out to be.


	5. Scimitars

**Scimitars:**

Drizzt had been apprehensive when Zaknafein had introduced him to the wide, bare hall that was to be his home for the upcoming years, but all his doubts were extinguished as Zaknafein swept down the curtain covering his magnificent weapons collection. As his infrared sensing eyes caught the cold gleam of adamantine, Drizzt's heart pounded in his chest. Finally, after years of repetitive cleaning and serving, he would have a task to truly succeed in. He only wished Nalfein were here to be with him.

All thoughts were forgotten moments later as Zaknafein strolled off with just a wink to the young drow, allowing Drizzt free access to the Do'Urden family's entire catalogue of weapons. Drizzt stepped forward hesitantly, half-expecting a reprimand such as Briza would have given him simply for breathing, but when no such rebuke was forthcoming from the seemingly absent weapons master, Drizzt brought his warm palm into contact with the cool hilt of a broadsword. The thirdboy lifted the broadsword from its scabbard and swung it hesitantly, both hands on the hilt for improved grip. Swinging the weapon came naturally to Drizzt, as naturally as to any other drow elf, and more naturally than to most, but balancing the large weapon in only a single hand proved too difficult for the lithe but small adolescent. After a few moments Drizzt abandoned the blade in favor of the largest weapon in the collection, a mighty halberd. Drizzt did not recognize the materials of the shaft nor the blade, being unfamiliar with the wood of trees and with the bronze that surface smiths had used in far-ago centuries.

The halberd proved to be the one weapon that Drizzt could not wield with any efficiency, and the momentum of his first swing sent the adolescent dark elf crashing to the ground. Drizzt's face burned bright with a rush of hot blood, but his enthusiasm returned almost immediately as he drew out a pair of razor sharp scimitars from underneath a crude orcish obsidian blade. No more than a few testing swings were required before the scimitars were leaping and dancing in Drizzt's hands, the air singing and screaming as the blades tore through the empty space in front of the young drow. It was long minutes before Drizzt relinquished the scimitars in order to test other weapons, and by this time Zaknafein had reappeared from his chambers, and was watching the young drow with a curious expression on his face. Drizzt, hands full of the shaft of a drow lance and mind full of excitement, didn't notice.

* * *

Zaknafein gave the young drow time to experiment with a sizable portion of the weapons, before finally stepping in to instruct the Do'Urden thirdboy in the proper use of weapons. While it tore at his soul to be instructing his child in the methods of bringing death, Zaknafein knew that it was not only Drizzt's best chance for survival, and also hoped that his tutelage would at the very least give Drizzt a mind less disposed to murder than those of his relatives. Once Drizzt had learned the basics, Zaknafein settled down to a little sparring, pitting Drizzt's twin scimitars and youthful exuberance against his own dual swords and just enough of his own attention to not be repeatedly skewered. To Zaknafein's continually dwindling surprise, he was forced to use much more of his attention than he had originally planned, to counter the younger drow's natural talent and penchant for elaborate improvisation.

Drizzt was having the best day of his young life, even including his visits to the Bregan D'Aerthe camp with Nalfein. While his excursions with his elder brother had been enlightening, and every drow he met more jovial than any of his siblings, training with Zaknafein was a chance to actually _do_ something, a chance to show something of himself. To a drow whose entire young life had been a fight to control and repress his emotions and passion, the simple freedom of sparring with the charismatic Do'Urden Weapon Master was the greatest gift possible. With every swing of his scimitars, Drizzt fought off the boredom and restraint of his past sixteen years, and replaced it with free-flowing movement and unrestrained acrobatics. Every time Drizzt pressed Zaknafein back, a thrill of excitement ran down his spine as he noticed the master swordsman direct a slight amount more attention to defeating his young student.

Zaknafein's slight smile grew wider and wider the harder Drizzt pressed his defense. He maneuvered the duel around the great hall, preparing for his final attack, which would hopefully serve the triple purpose of impressing his young charge, proving his technical and tactical superiority over his precocious apprentice, and also giving a great tale to tell to his one friend in Menzoberranzan, and hopefully also to his children and grandchildren in any future where Drizzt and Vierna escaped becoming mindless drones of the Spider Queen. As he looked up to scan the room, however, he saw an impossible sight, and his whirling defense slowed for just a moment, allowing the flat sides of Drizzt's scimitars to slap hard against his ribs, knocking him backwards. By the time Zaknafein recovered from the hits, the vision was gone. Zaknafein shook his head to clear it, and congratulated Drizzt on his success.

"You let me win," complained Drizzt, young soul burning at the outrage of how obvious Zaknafein's capitulation had been. "There's no point winning if you're not even trying!" Despite the pain in his ribs, the disappointment of missing out on the final attack that he'd prepared, and the troubling hallucination that he's just had, a belly-bursting laugh erupted from Zaknafein's mouth. "You did very well, young one," he placated the adolescent, "but I still was not intending to let you win. I was distracted for a moment, and you did well to choose that moment to strike. Never mind though," he continued, a smirk growing on his face, "I shall make sure to beat you properly tomorrow. I think a resounding victory for the Do'Urden weapon Master," at this Zaknafein puffed out his chest exaggeratedly, "would be just the thing for both of us. Now!" he cried, clapping his hands together, "it is time to eat!"

* * *

It was not until later that night, lying sleepless in his hard soldier's bed, that Zaknafein began to dwell on what he'd seen. He knew it could not possibly have been her, much as he wished it was. Sa'Shiana Baenre, once High Priestess of Eilistraee, whose very name was outlawed in Menzoberranzan, had been sacrificed to Lloth centuries ago, and Lloth never relinquished her prisoners. Of all the living residents of House Do'Urden, only Zaknafein, Malice, and Nalfein had ever seen Sa'Shiana. From this thought, it didn't take long for Zaknafein to realize the truth of what had happened. Rolling from his bed, Zaknafein strapped his weapons belt over his soft but practical silk pyjamas and padded down the hallways of the Do'Urden compound. Even Malice never touched some subjects. While the rivalry between the Do'Urden males could get vicious at times, Zaknafein was surprised at both the lack of subtlety and the lack of outright danger in Nalfein's most recent trick. Perhaps, he thought, the elderboy had not understood the true meaning of what he had done. No matter, Zaknafein decided. He would leave the house wizard a surprise unpleasant enough to deter him from any further tricks for at least a century, and yet not damaging enough to fall foul of Malice's strict prohibition on weakening the House through internecine warfare.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks to those who reviewed!


	6. Gelroos

**Gelroos:**

"Matron Malice, we may have a problem."

Malice stretched back lithely on her throne, before raising a single delicate eyebrow at her eldest son. "Those are your first words to your mother on your return, Nalfein? Have you not missed me during the term at Sorcere?" Nalfein could not honestly say that he had missed the cruel matron in the slightest, so he merely continued with his train of thought, ignoring the matron's teasing. A dangerous game, but under the circumstances he was sure Malice would understand.

"Matron, if I may, it's about Gelroos." Both of Malice's eyebrows raised at this, and the beautiful middle-aged dark elf motioned for Nalfein to continue. "The Faceless One has become ever more reclusive, and there have been rumors of failed experiments, experiments that Gelroos would have known not to try. He has also begun to only teach the introductory classes, where once he would refuse to teach any but the most advanced." At this, Malice's interest was piqued.

"It seems odd," she interrupted, "that the wizard once thought of as the heir apparent to the archmage of Menzoberranzan would now be merely a cut-rate instructor. You have done well to bring this to me. I shall have Dinin investigate this occurrence." Nalfein smiled to himself at the praise, and the smile widened into a vicious smirk at Malice's decree that his impudent younger brother would be forced into a dangerous investigation. "One more thing, Matron," he interjected, sensing his imminent dismissal. "At the, ah, graduation ceremony, last night, the Faceless One attended for the first time since the fall of DeVir. And he showed far more interest in the, ah, activities, and the priestesses engaging in said activities, than Gelroos would ever have done. Gelroos and I graduated in the same class, you recall, and we kept each other company during the celebration. And as you recall, the facial unguent which was provided to Gelroos by yourself has not yet been used. We had assumed it had failed to work, but in light of this new evidence…" Nalfein trailed off, certain that his mother was convinced. His internal grin was firmly in place. In a single meeting with his mother, he had gained the matron's favor, put Dinin in danger, protected the house to which his ambitions were bound, and hopefully removed a rival in Sorcere. All in a day's work for the most cunning drow in Menzoberranzan.

* * *

The moment news reached them of the elderboy's return to the Do'Urden compound, Zaknafein released Drizzt from his lesson, sighing as he did so at the adolescent's naivety. Drizzt had been antsy all day, his work not at all up to scratch as he attempted to master the basics of fighting with a falchion, the only weapon in Zaknafein's extensive collection that he had not yet been taught to use. Zaknafein had recognized it immediately as excitement over Nalfein's return. Whatever the elderboy's flaws, Drizzt was drawn to him, and Zaknafein didn't think it right to cut the adolescent off from this bond. Nalfein was the drow elf in Menzoberranzan with the least reason to hurt Drizzt, other than himself, and Zaknafein wasn't worried about his nephew corrupting his young pupil. Privately, Zaknafein hoped the elderboy would be able to introduce Drizzt to the black heart of Menzoberranzan without crushing his passionate soul, so that Zaknafein would be able to then guide the boy through the process of coming to grips with the darkness of drow society.

Drizzt was aware of none of this interplay as he dashed through the corridors of the Do'Urden compound, skidding to a stop right outside the throne room. Drizzt was impervious to the disapproving glowers of the guards, soldiers even older than Zaknafein, as he waited impatiently for his brother to exit from his interview with Matron Malice. Eventually the heavy stone doors parted and Nalfein swept through, looking regal in his mage's robes, the finest that the Do'Urden tailors could make. Upon seeing the thirdboy, he dropped to one knee and ruffled the younger boy's hair, a process that became more and more difficult every year as the young drow grew taller. Nalfein vocalized this thought and got a grin from Drizzt in return, followed by being regaled with tales of the year's training as the thirdboy followed the house wizard to his oft-unused quarters.

* * *

It was an hour later when Zaknafein received his own summons. He had been relaxing by the heatstone in his office, reading by dim candlelight from a number of scrolls that had been acquired for him from the surface through an organization run by an old acquaintance of his. Translation from the surface tongue was a slow process, as he had to use a number of languages, including goblin and dwarven, as intermediaries to translate from the original to the language of the drow. No dictionary had yet been published for translation between surface common and drow. Nor did many of the concepts in the scrolls have words assigned to them in the drow language, a further issue. Zaknafein packed away the scrolls carefully before pulling on his high leather boots in place of his slippers and strolling languidly down the corridors to Malice's throne room.

The audience with Malice was quite an experience. Even for Zaknafein, with many years of experience of Malice's fluctuating temper and volatile relationship with patience, the absurdity of the situation nearly baffled him. Malice was barking orders left and right at various members of the family and her inner circle, only pausing to instruct Briza to lash Dinin with her snake-headed whip at regular intervals. It took quite a while for Zaknafein to discern the reason for Dinin's lashings, but once he found out that not only had Dinin failed to have Alton DeVir successfully assassinated, but that the secondboy had also failed to notice that the impostor had managed to steal the identity of the Faceless One without Dinin's notice, Zaknafein immediately began planning. Whatever the state of disorganization of House Do'Urden at this point, it was clear that war with House Hun'ett, Mezoberranzan's fifth house, was inevitable.

Zaknafein waited patiently for many minutes, and eventually the crowded throne room began to empty out as Malice doled out final instructions to each of her subordinates, eventually even giving Briza permission to beat Dinin elsewhere. Zaknafein outwardly showed no surprise at his summoning, and the privacy Malice demanded to give him instruction, but inwardly he was puzzled. He had already been crafting plans for attack and defense, giving special preference to those plans which allowed him to kill priestesses of Lloth, but it seemed Malice needed something else from him, given that he was being given private instructions.

Deciding to push his luck, Zaknafein spoke first, "Greetings sister," the weapon master intoned, sweeping into a deep and sardonic bow, "How may I serve the House of Daermon N'a'shezbaernon today?" Malice sat unmoved on the throne, and Zaknafein scowled. Clearly his theatrics had not unsettled the matron mother as much as he had hoped for. He licked his lips, "Ah, that is, what can I do for you today, matron?" Malice smiled.

"I need you to contact Jarlaxle."

"Jarlaxle?" Zaknafein echoed, "What do you need Jarlaxle for? I've already started the calculations and there's no way we'd need Bregan D'Aerthe. House Hun'ett are the weakest of the eight of the council. Our soldiers could defeat House Hun'ett and still have the energy to march on one of the lesser houses. At least as long as you don't beat Dinin to death," he smirked, "although that might be good for morale." Malice grinned at that, before sobering and getting back to business.

"Well, Zaknafein, I"m glad to hear it. But we are not going to attack House Hun'ett. We will take care of Alton DeVir, he is our loose end, but as you mentioned, House Hun'ett is weak. They need to put on a show of force to deter other houses from picking them off. Who better to display such force against than the ninth house of the city, only a single position away from the council? They will be attacking us. But DeVir is insufficient incentive. We must give them cause to bring the fight to us, and soon. I will not have Drizzt in any extra danger when he goes to Melee-Magthere in two years' time. And I imagine you would not like that either," she finished, glancing at Zaknafein slyly. "Thus, you will go and speak with Jarlaxle. See what he can do, and how he will extort us for his assistance." The moment Malice was done speaking, Zaknafein swept into a hasty bow, still smarting from her comment about Drizzt, before turning on his heel and marching through the throne room doors. He barely paused to send instruction to Drizzt to stay with Nalfein in his absence before the weapon master dashed out of the compound and onto the streets of his home city, on his way to negotiate with his oldest friend.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** To my loyal fans, thanks for reading. To my non-loyal fans, please be more loyal. To my loyal non-fans, why are you loyal to not being my fan? That's just rude. To my non-loyal non-fans, I can't imagine you're bothering to read this, so whatever. To everyone, thanks for reading, please review, follow etc.

Also, I don't have a set update schedule for a reason, but the next update may well be less than two weeks away. So stay tuned.


	7. Bregan D'Aerthe

**Bregan D'Aerthe:**

The camp of Bregan D'Aerthe lay on the edges of the Clawrift, but any drow with sense would tell you that the location of the camp was far further into the Clawrift than they would willingly go. But it was this edge that Zaknafein now traversed, away from the well-paved roads and byways of central Menzoberranzan. Whenever he travelled outside the Do'Urden compound, Zaknafein was always on guard and alert to danger. Too many in Menzoberranzan would risk everything to gain the fame of having defeated the most famous warrior in the city, but more dangerous were the matrons of rival houses, who would do anything to remove one of House Do'Urden's most potent threats. Here in the Clawrift, Zaknafein had to remain alert, not to threats from other drow, but to the many dangers and monsters that roamed the chasm. This journey, however, was smooth, and soon Zaknafein was within the tent of the most powerful male in all of Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle, the leader of Bregan D'Aerthe.

Jarlaxle bowed deeply as Zaknafein was escorted into his tent, sweeping the flamboyant hat from his bald head with a flourish. "Greetings, my old friend," said the rogue. "I was not expecting to see you again so soon. Usually you visit me but once a year or so." The bald drow jammed his ostentatious wide-brimmed hat back onto his head and threw himself languidly into his chair, slamming his boots onto the desk. "Business this time, I'm afraid," Zaknafein replied, his face betraying only a hint of his surly demeanour. "Malice has plans, and she needs you to help execute them, of course."  
"Tell me more," said Jarlaxle. Zaknafein explained that House Do'Urden had come to the understanding that Gelroos Hun'ett had been replaced by an imposter, and that the most likely identity of the imposter was Alton DeVir.

"So of course," continued the weapons master, "Malice believes, probably rightly, that SiNafay would only allow the DeVir to live so long as he was useful, and he is a bumbling buffoon. So Hun'ett's eyes must be turned at House Do'Urden."  
"And what do you want me to do about it?" Jarlaxle enquired. "Surely you cannot think that even in our strength Bregan D'Aerthe can stand toe to toe with a noble house on the Council of Menzoberranzan, with many high priestesses of Lloth counted among its ranks?"

"Of course not, of course not. But I assume you have heard of the growing discontent between House Teken'duis and House Freth?" Jarlaxle nodded. "And as you know, House Freth is a client house to House Hun'ett. I believe Matron Quarra Freth and Matron SiNafay Hun'ett share a grandmother? Anyway, Matron Malice believes that with a little help from Bregan D'Aerthe, Freth can be convinced to attack House Do'Urden - a show of force to dissuade attacks from Teken'duis. Which would of course, with a little more help from Bregan D'Aerthe, lead to Hun'ett attacking Do'Urden before they are ready to strike. We, of course, are already prepared."

Jarlaxle leaned even further back, if such a thing were possible, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I think such a thing can be arranged, old friend," the rogue confirmed, "Bregan D'Aerthe do like a little intriguing from time to time. It makes a nice change from slaughtering, stealing, and drinking away the profits."

Zaknafein grimaced slightly at the mention of the slaughtering of which his friend spoke with such glee, but he continued with his task. "Matron Malice has instructed me to offer you any goods or services within her power to give, but reminds you of the consequences of greed." This time it was Jarlaxle's turn to grimace, but the cocky grin was back within moments as he cheekily asked, " _Any services_ , she said? Luscious Matron Malice offered to _service_ me in any way?" Now Zaknafein did truly shudder. "Do you have to talk about my sister like that?" the weapon master whined. "I think she meant material goods and military service, not whatever perverse ideas your sick mind can come up with." Jarlaxle grinned again. "It's not like you've never seen your sister that way," the rogue laughed.

"We don't talk about that," Zaknafein growled, filling the room with murderous intent.

"I know, old friend, not by choice but by duty. I understand. Never fear, I think you shall like my payment. I'm planning a trip to the surface, to see the world, maybe expand the business a little, pick up some of the recent _literature_ ," he winked, "and of course, I need some extra, ah, protection. Protection that is unlikely to slaughter the first surface-dweller we meet. I understand you are very attached to your young nephew. Or is it son? Nephew? Son? Anyway, I won't take you away from him too soon. But the day that he goes to Melee-Magthere, Malice will release you into my service for a period of no more than ten years, and we, old friend, will see the surface." Zaknafein couldn't contain his grin as he marvelled at his old friend's ambition and generosity. An open invitation for compensation from a matron mother was quite the prize, and Jarlaxle was spending it relatively cheaply merely to give Zaknafein a chance to see the surface and to collect some of the pirate romance literature that the Do'Urden weapon master just couldn't stop reading. Jarlaxle was the only other living being who knew what was secreted in the wall of Zaknafein's bedchamber, the most extensive library of fiction of any kind translated into the drow tongue, and one of the most extensive collections of piratical romance novels anywhere below the surface of Faerun, including in the caverns of the gnomes and the holes of the halflings. Business concluded, the old acquaintances chatted easily until the heat of Narbondel had almost fully dimmed, and then Zaknafein returned alone to the Do'Urden compound, making short work of a variety of lesser monsters that tried to impede his progress out of the Clawrift.


	8. Driders

**Driders:**

The Menzoberranzan night was cold without the bright heat of Narbondel to light up the city of the drow. Near the Academy of the city, just outside of Arach-Tinilith, a drow female, young by drow standards, but ancient by the reckonings of shorter-lived races, sat cross-legged overlooking a deep stone pit. Vierna Do'Urden, High Priestess of Lloth, had returned to this spot every night since her induction to the elite society of Lloth's high priestesses, only a few days previously. It had been many decades since Malice Do'Urden's second daughter had graduated from Arach-Tinilith, the clerical school of Menzoberranzan, but much of those decades had been spent weaning her precocious, talented, and _strange_ brother, the thirdboy of House Do'Urden.

Like all noble born drow females though, Vierna had the pedigree to accede to the rank of high priestess, and she pursued that path with vigor the moment that Drizzt's care was transferred from herself to the House in general. She had completed her studies in short order following her release from child-rearing duties, and barely more than half a decade later, Vierna Do'Urden became the family's third high priestess. Maya would be finished with her studies soon as well, giving House Do'Urden the prestige of having all their female nobles be high priestesses.

None of this was of much interest to Vierna at this moment, however. She was too preoccupied with the creatures inhabiting the pit below her. They were driders, a magical hybrid of a drow elf and one of the giant spiders which inhabited the Underdark. Seen by some as a punishment, and by others as a blessing. Of course, for the unwilling subjects, it was just painful. The clerical magic used did not spare the drow elves any pain as they were melded into driders, and the lingering effects of the transmutation drove the victims insane. Of course, to some of Lloth's more passionate priestesses, this insanity was actually a sign of Lloth's blessing. Vierna herself had been introduced to the driders for the first time moments before her formal accession to the rank of high priestess. The few drow females being promoted were brought to this pit, and warned against the fate of those who betrayed their vows to the Spider Queen. At least, those who lived.

Looking into the pit, Vierna thought that those who died were most likely the lucky ones. The plight of the driders was of personal concern to Vierna. While Drizzt was officially Rizzen's son, though it was well known within the Do'Urden compound that Zaknafein was in fact his father, it was openly acknowledged that Zaknafein was Vierna's father. Unfortunately for her, she had also inherited some of her father's irregularities. Vierna had never felt the driving ambition of most drow, nor did she enjoy the meaningless cruelty which her sister Briza loved so much. She may not have had the weakness of Zaknafein, believing in the value of life and being disgusted by the Spider Queen's chaotic edicts of betrayal and selfishness, but she did have far stronger bonds with others than most drow elves were capable of or desired. In fact, the majority of Vierna's drive to succeed was for the benefit of her house and so as not to disappoint her mother. She was ruthless, true, but all of her ruthlessness was in service of her House and her family.

It had always been this way. As a child, learning Lloth's tenets with the aid of her mother's whip, Vierna had struggled to understand why betrayal and violence were so vaunted by those in Lloth's service. But Vierna had pursued her studies diligently, and had even managed to please her mother with her dedication to becoming a priestess. Vierna had even graduated with honors from Arach-Tinilith, though, to her secret relief, she had only come second in her class rather than first. The first daughter of House Fey-Branche had graduated above Vierna, and had had the dubious honor of copulating with a summoned demon in the graduation ceremony. She had not survived the night. Vierna had been only a few years graduated on the fateful night on which House Do'Urden became just a single house away from a seat on Menzoberranzan's council. Vierna had been thrilled with the success of the raid, but had been dismayed to be given the responsibility of a new-born child, preventing her from completing her training to become a High Priestess. The long years with Drizzt had mellowed Vierna, however, and she both desired to protect her brother, and also to have her brother become a great soldier of the house, as Zaknafein was already.

This mellowing was Vierna's current concern, however, and the reason she sat and watched the driders now. Drizzt had changed something about her, stripped away her guard, and Vierna worried that she was straying too far from the true nature of a drow priestess. Too often, she thought, had she spoken a kind word, or tried to protect her family and those in her house, where a harsh word, a whip, or a betrayal would have advanced her own position more effectively. Vierna may not have had much ambition for herself, but she didn't ever want to be made into a drider.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter. I could not figure out how to move into the next arc of the story, and so I ended up writing this filler chapter, which hopefully explores some of Vierna's character. This chapter also took me forever to write and it's not my best work, so apologies. Hopefully I will have a real chapter some time within the next two weeks, but it all depends on my inspiration.


	9. Warrior

**Warrior:**

Something big was going on in the Do'Urden compound. Drizzt was not always the most perceptive young drow elf, and he was aware, through his talks with Nalfein, that there were aspects of the drow culture which he truly struggled to naturally comprehend. But Drizzt could tell that _something_ was happening, and he was smart enough to realize that if _he_ could tell that something was happening, it must be something _big_. So, naturally, he went to ask Zaknafein. The elder drow clearly liked him, and he seemed much more likely to give Drizzt correct information. With most drow, Drizzt had found, they would lie to you just for the fun of it, so unless you were good at reading between the lines and catching them in a lie, there was really no point asking. Drizzt wasn't any good at that, so when he wanted to know something, he asked Zaknafein.

Zaknafein was nowhere to be found within the Do'Urden compound, which lent further weight to Drizzt's theory that something was going on. So Drizzt went to find Nalfein. Who was locked in the Do'Urden throne room with Matron Malice, Briza, Rizzen, and one of the Do'Urden soldiers known only as 'Rat'. Drizzt sighed, and went to find Vierna. Vierna was his last choice, but she _had_ raised him, and she had always been kind enough to him. Not as kind as Zaknafein, who was positively jovial in the moments where he was not a ruthless killing machine, but more genuinely kind than Nalfein, who always had a list of reasons on hand for his kindnesses towards his youngest brother. Certainly, Vierna was kind enough to everyone in the family, whereas Nalfein could be cruel to those he did not deem useful, and malicious to their brother Dinin. Which was somewhat justified, Drizzt mused. After all, Nalfein had told Drizzt about Dinin's actions on the night that Drizzt was born. An attempted assassination certainly merited a few harsh words and a dweomer-based practical joke or two that left their arrogant brother looking downright stupid.

Drizzt finally caught up with Vierna right by the main gate of the Do'Urden compound. She was looking somewhat haggard, her dark skin flaking off in places, porcelain fingernails cracked and chipped, and her usually lustrous white hair now stringy and tied haphazardly back. She had lost weight as well, making her face look drawn and leaving her robes to hang slightly off from her body where usually she would be pressed tight against them. Drizzt called out to her, and she turned slowly, frowning. "What is it, Drizzt?" Drizzt's face showed a little surprise at her appearance, but he schooled his expression quickly, as Nalfein had taught him.

"Zaknafein is missing, Nalfein is with Matron Malice, and something is happening and I don't know what it is, and no-one will tell me." Drizzt reeled off a list of observations about the goings on within the Do'Urden compound, hoping for some enlightenment, but instead found himself being dragged by the arm into the center of the compound.

"This," hissed Vierna, "is exactly why no-one has told you. You cannot be trusted with our secrets if you are willing to blurt out everything you see and hear within strides of our gate! There are enemies everywhere, foolish male, and it would not do to have them turn their gaze on us a moment too soon!"

Drizzt was clearly still confused, and Vierna relented somewhat in her onslaught of words. "Do you understand," she asked, "that we must be constantly on our guard for fear of hostile action? In Menzoberranzan everyone will take any opportunity possible to advance themselves, and advancement always comes at the expense of another. We are high in the Menzoberranzan hierarchy, and so other houses are constantly looking for opportunities to surpass us, so as to advance themselves. Thus, any actions we take must be kept very secret, and speaking of our secret actions openly within hearing range, or worse, lip-reading distance, of the gates is not only foolish, but endangers our entire house. Do you understand the mistake you have made?" Drizzt could only nod solemnly, his gaze fixed glumly to the floor. Seeing his contrition, Vierna softened, slowing her pace and letting go of his arm as she returned the adolescent to the Weapons Hall. As they walked, she continued to remind him of how necessary it was to avoid putting his trust in anyone but the noble females of the house, and of watching his tongue whenever he was outside the sacred confines of the Do'Urden throne room or the privacy of the Weapons Hall.

They had almost reached the Weapons Hall by the time Drizzt finally built up the courage to ask another question. "Why would anyone attack House Do'Urden," the young drow reasoned, "given that we are stronger than many houses above us and all below us? What house would want to attack a strong house such as our own, when there are weaker targets all around us?"

Vierna would have reprimanded young Drizzt for his presumption in speaking without being spoken to, but she was pleased with the question, so she let it slide. For so long Drizzt had been unwilling to understand that the written rules of Menzoberranzan were not the only rules, and indeed, were not the ones by which life in Menzoberranzan took place, but now it seemed that her idiosyncratic brother was finally beginning to come to terms with the reality in which they lived. And so, she explained to Drizzt, slowly and patiently, that it was not the houses with less power than their own which House Do'Urden had to fear. Rather, it was the houses with entrenched, but dwindling power, those who were becoming easy targets for House Do'Urden and other houses newly in Lloth's favor, who were likely to aggress against them, in hopes of winning the conflict through a pre-emptive strike. Drizzt accepted this explanation without too much of a struggle, before Vierna left him in the Weapons Hall, awaiting Zaknafein's return.

* * *

It was many hours before Zaknafein finally made an appearance, rushing through the training hall and into his personal quarters, before sweeping back out moments later with a new, longer cloak, as black to infrared sensing eyes as the Underdark to human eyes, a great sword strapped to his back, and a lumpen pouch in his hand. Drizzt hardly had time to leap to his feet from where he had been meditating on the ground and begin to ask a question before his mentor was gone from the room. A parting shout echoed down the stone hallways of the Do'Urden compound which sounded suspiciously like instructions to not leave the room and to do extra practice with his scimitars. Drizzt groaned, but got to work on demolishing yet another training dummy.

Three hours and as many training dummies later, Drizzt finally got a visit from another drow. The door to the Weapons Hall opened soundlessly, almost as if the hinges had been silenced with a simple dweomer, known to all drow priestesses. Matron Malice Do'Urden stood in the opened doorway, watching her youngest, most talented son practice forms of swordplay from the advanced to the truly miraculous. Had Malice needed any more proof that Drizzt was Zaknafein's son and not Rizzen's, this would have been it. Many centuries ago, a young Malice Do'Urden had watched an even younger Zaknafein Do'Urden bamboozle his swordsmanship instructors with such precise control and swift movements. Malice's eyes gleamed avariciously. Zaknafein Do'Urden was the most feared swordsman in Menzoberranzan, with no exceptions. From what she could see, Drizzt would surpass even his father. Leaving Matron Malice Do'Urden in control of the two most dangerous swordsmen in the city.

Next to Matron Malice stood Briza Do'Urden, the eldest daughter of Matron Malice, and heir apparent to the Do'Urden family. Malice had no similar feelings towards her eldest daughter as she did towards her youngest son, nor even her eldest son. Briza's only redeeming features in Malice's eyes were being female, and not being Dinin. But Malice put up with Briza for the simple fact that, as long as Malice was alive, Briza was useful to her, not only as a high priestess of Lloth, but also as a barrier between her and her more competent offspring. Neither Vierna nor Maya would try to eliminate Malice merely to be subjugated to their aggressive, sadistic, and not too bright sister, and Briza while Briza had the ambition to attempt to assassinate Malice, she did not have the ability. At least not while Malice remained in Lloth's favor. So Malice tolerated her eldest daughter, and an uneasy peace played out in the Do'Urden household.

Eventually, the thirdboy noticed his mother and sister, and dropped immediately into a respectful, and perhaps overdone, kneeling position, almost prostrating himself. Briza smirked, but Malice, more insightful, recognized Zaknafein's influence. The weapons master was fond of his own overdone flourishes, bowing either far deeper or much shallower than protocol required, and it seemed that the mentor had passed on his ways to the pupil. Malice sensed nothing from the adolescent, however, so she decided that Zaknafein had probably presented this to his pupil as the accepted position. She sighed deeply, internally cursing her undeniably talented, but even more eccentric brother. "Stand up, child," she snapped, and immediately the young drow before her sprang to his feet, though he kept his eyes respectfully trained on the ground. She wondered whose influence that had been, Zaknafein's, or Nalfein's. No matter, she decided, and addressed the adolescent, "Vierna has told me that you know that war is coming to our house."

"Yes, Matron Malice," the reply, firm enough to be audible, but otherwise entirely respectful. In other words, perfect. Nalfein's influence, she was sure.

"A war is no place for a child, for a child will merely be in the way. Do you wish to be a child, or do you wish to be a drow warrior?" Matron Malice did not intend to give Drizzt the choice, but she was intrigued as to what he would say of his own free will. After all, one did not allow the lynchpin of their plan to merely walk away. However, Malice was not entirely prepared for the response.

"I wish to be a drow warrior, like my Uncle Zaknafein, and to protect House Do'Urden from those who would unjustly harm us."

Malice managed to restrain her amusement at her youngest child's proclamation, but Briza was not so capable, and let loose not only a snort, but also a guffaw and a number of chuckles. Malice looked at her disapprovingly, but noticed that to his credit, the thirdboy of House Do'Urden had not reacted at all to his sister's mirth. "Fine words, young warrior," Malice replied, not choosing to mention that Zaknafein, Drizzt's father, had himself no desire to be a drow warrior, and that Drizzt's role as a soldier of House Do'Urden would far more likely involve aggression against others that by most standards would be seen as unjust. If Zaknafein had not chosen to inform Drizzt of his heritage, far be it from Malice to spill any of the Do'Urdens' dirty laundry. "Then you will be needing this." Briza reached behind the door and rolled out an armor stand, mannequin replete with the most gorgeous, sleek adamantine armor that Drizzt had ever seen. Thin rings of metal clasped together to make an almost impenetrable barrier, lain over the top of thin layers of silk. At the bottom, boots of a supple leather that Drizzt did not recognize, and around the shoulders a cloak of the same midnight black as the one Zaknafein had been wearing earlier. The armor had no ornamentation, but its masterful construction was aesthetically pleasing enough. Any additions would have spoiled its minimalist beauty.

The only jewels anywhere on the accoutrements were two diamonds, lit from within by faerie fire, exactly the color of Drizzt's eyes, one each embedded in the hilts of his new scimitars, and it was these from which Drizzt could not tear his eyes away. From the moment he had first held a scimitar, the weapon's sleek and graceful curves had been embedded on his soul, and these were the height of the artisan's craft. Without even noticing, his own actions, Drizzt had the scimitars in his hands, and by the time Malice and Briza had finished admiring his skill and slipped out the door, there were no training dummies left intact.


	10. Zaknafein's Return

**Zaknafein's Return:**

Zaknafein did not return that night. Drizzt was undisturbed until he went to bed, as while the Do'Urden compound was buzzing with activity, none of that activity focused on the Weapons Hall, and Drizzt did not leave the hall, preoccupied as he was with his new weapons and armor. The next morning he awoke to furious shouting in the hallway outside. Cracking the door open, Drizzt observed Zaknafein blocking the door with his body, in the throes of an argument with Rizzen, Matron Malice's consort. Drizzt shrugged and went to dress himself. If he had learned anything in his short years of life, it was that in Menzoberranzan, getting involved in other people's business was a bad idea.

With his new armor, _piwafwi_ , and the two exquisite matching scimitars, Drizzt felt like an entirely new drow. Pride surged through him, and he stood even straighter than usual, chest puffed out slightly. The young drow could not contain his excitement that Matron Malice believed him ready to be a drow warrior, the position for which he had been training so long. Thus, when Zaknafein finally came inside, Drizzt could not understand why all he could read in the Weapons Master's eyes was sadness.

For his part, Zaknafein knew he should have expected something like this. He had been ordered out of the house to finalize preparations for the upcoming conflict, and it made sense that Malice would take steps to try and bind Drizzt's loyalty to her during that time. Malice knew as well as Zaknafein that loyalty was never truly given or received in Menzoberranzan, but Malice played the game of trust (or lack thereof) better than any drow in the entire city. It was Malice's power, charisma, and the impression that everyone else in the family fully supported her which allowed the matron mother to retain her position. Having Zaknafein out of the way while she gave Drizzt gifts would give Drizzt the impression that she had Zaknafein's full support in the matter, and Zaknafein could not then take such gifts away without seeming churlish, or even cruel. "Well played, sister," the deadly warrior muttered, too quietly for even Drizzt's sharp hearing to pick up on.

Regardless of his feelings about Malice's actions towards his son, Zaknafein knew that he had to do his duty. He had put up a fight against Rizzen, just to show the younger, weaker, and certainly not more handsome male once again exactly where in the Do'Urden hierarchy they both stood. But if Zaknafein was too slow in fulfilling the task which he had prevented Rizzen from performing, then Matron Malice would indubitably demonstrate Zaknafein's own position to him. And Matron Malice's demonstrations tended to be painful. So Zaknafein swallowed his discomfort, and spoke. "Come along, child, Matron Malice wishes to speak to us. It would not do to be late." Of course, they were already late, but Drizzt didn't need to know that. Malice's punishment would serve as an object lesson of why not to trust drow females bearing gifts.

Drizzt was about to correct Zaknafein, to tell him that he was no longer a child, but a drow warrior, to boast of the faith which Matron Malice had showed in him, but he stopped short. Much of his childhood had been spent with the Do'Urden elderboy, Nalfein, who had taught the young Drizzt a number of tricks to survival in the chaotic politics of the city of the drow. One of these lessons sprang to mind above all. Nalfein had reinforced this lesson to the young drow over and over again. 'Let others believe you are weaker than you truly are.' This lesson rang in Drizzt's mind, preventing him from making such a boast. He didn't think he needed to hide his strength from Zaknafein, his mentor, his house's Weapon Master, and his mother's brother, but nonetheless, the lesson had been ingrained in him, and it would be foolish to reject it now. Then he remembered another piece of advice the elderboy had drilled into him. 'Look underneath the obvious, and then look underneath the underneath.'

As Drizzt followed Zaknafein quietly from the room, he looked underneath the obvious. Zaknafein had clearly seen Drizzt's new equipment, and the greatest warrior in Menzoberranzan could not fail to recognize that Drizzt's new garb was of superior quality, the grade that a valuable noble warrior of a strong house would wear. It was in fact very similar to Zaknafein's own. So Zaknafein had obviously noticed Drizzt's changed status, but chosen to ignore it, addressing the young warrior as he would have done years before, when Drizzt had never even lifted a weapon. Holding off his irritation at the intentional slight, Drizzt proceeded to look underneath the underneath, and figure out what had caused Zaknafein to act in such a way. It didn't take long for Drizzt to put together the facts that he knew, along with conjecture about the elder drow's emotional state. Zaknafein had spent years training Drizzt, spending the entirety of his day turning the young drow into a warrior so fearsome that he could almost hold his own against his teacher, the greatest warrior in the entirety of Menzoberranzan, and then, in one move, Matron Malice had stolen the crowning moment of his greatest achievement, promoting Drizzt to a drow warrior without consulting Zaknafein, without allowing Zaknafein to be there, without Zaknafein's knowledge. And Drizzt, unknowing, had gone along with young drow finally recognized Zaknafein's hurt, feelings of betrayal, and desire to treat Drizzt as if he were still the young child Zaknafein had begun to teach. But Drizzt still had no answer for why Zaknafein seemed so sad.

But Drizzt was an unusual drow, and so was Zaknafein, so when Drizzt sidled closer to his mentor and pressed his head softly, comfortingly, into the older drow's shoulder, both drow began to feel a little bit better. Zaknafein briefly slung his arm around the younger drow's back, before letting it drop, clearing his throat, resuming their spacing from each other, and turning the corner that led up to Malice's throne room.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** It has been much time. I have been much busy with stuff and things. I would apologize for the delay, but I never said I'd update promptly. I think. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I certainly enjoyed getting your reviews and follow notifications during my period of extreme uselessness where I completely failed to write this chapter. It was hard to write. And I was busy. Anyway. I'd love some more reviews and follows. Thanks.


	11. Battle

The throne room was in chaos. Lesser priestesses of House Do'Urden were rushing from storage closets and side hallways to the private chapel rooms, to tomes of spells and rituals, carrying items no less grotesque than esoteric. The nobles of the house were rushing in and out, the males to do the bidding of the females, as well as to consult with the spies and the captains of the warrior squadrons, and the females to organize the lesser priestesses of the house and to generally terrorize everyone. Zaknafein paused outside the entrance, winked at Drizzt, and then grabbed him swiftly by the scruff of his neck, dragging the younger drow over to the foot of Malice's throne.

Zaknafein roughly dropped Drizzt down in front of the matron mother, and the adolescent attempted to turn his fall into a bow, succeeding, though clumsily, in his attempt. Zaknafein himself executed a smooth, though shallow bow, before looking Malice in the eye. "I have brought the _child_ , as requested," the Weapon Master growled.

"No longer a child, Zaknafein, but a drow warrior," Malice replied, her voice husky and seductive, but backed with power and malicious intent. Zaknafein sneered slightly, almost unnoticeably, but remained silent. Drizzt likewise remained silent, eyes still on the ground, rigid in his bow. Drizzt had no desire to be noticed by his powerful and somewhat unbalanced mother, and certainly not before she wanted to notice him. Malice spoke again, her voice hard now, firm and with clipped syllables. "You're late. Explain yourselves."  
Drizzt swallowed, and lifted out of his bow to look at the matron mother. Even at her small size, Matron Malice exuded power and threat. He made eye contact with her, and forced himself to hold it, even though he would much rather have been looking anywhere else. Malice held his eye and smirked, aware of the young warrior's discomfort. Malice exuded power and cruelty, sending chills down the spines of both males facing her, though Zaknafein as usual covered his instinctive flinch with a show of bravado. "Well," he began, breaking into an exaggerated yawn, "given that I have been away on _business_ for you, and have not slept in more than two cycles of Narbondel," and here he broke into another exaggerated yawn, "I decided that I would get the _child_ to carry me to this meeting whilst I regained some sleep. However, due to his frail stature and tender years, he dropped me down a flight of stairs, and I rolled all the way into the center of Menzoberranzan before I woke up." Zaknafein's mouth opened to continue with his utterly false story, but Malice spoke a quick word, the trigger phrase for a silencing dweomer, and while Zaknafein's mouth continued to open and close vigorously, no sound came out.

Malice turned her predatory gaze to her youngest child, and spoke. "Welcome back to the throne room of House Do'Urden, young Drizzt," the matron mother purred, soft tones belying the harsh reality of the drow priestess' personality. "It has been too long since we have received your presence." The matron mother raised her voice, infusing it with power as she projected to all sides of the room. "Those not in the ruling family of the house must leave now. I will speak with the nobles of House Do'Urden alone." Drizzt watched in amusement as powerful warriors and priestesses scurried to the exits, tripping over each other in their haste to avoid the wrath of the powerful high priestess. Within moments Drizzt, Zaknafein and Rizzen stood alone in the center of the room, with only Matron Malice and her other five children anywhere within the cavernous throne room.

Faster than the eye could blink, Malice's gaze connected with Briza's, and the eldest daughter advanced on the Do'Urden patron, snake-headed whip already detached from her belt and in her hand. "Out!" she screamed, lashing the hapless male with the sentient heads of her whip. "Out! You are a mere breeder, not a true noble of this house. Matron Malice's plans are not for you to hear and repeat like the idiot male that you are! Out!" Drizzt flinched at the sight of the snake heads biting over and over into the patron, releasing blood in great sprays from the elder male's back, but quailed even more at the look of pure delight on his sister's face from the cruelty she was inflicting. But Drizzt held his tongue, and tried to remain dispassionate. In the throne room of House Do'Urden, passion was always punished. And Drizzt held no true sympathy for Rizzen. The handsome male had little by way of talent to match his looks, but a cruel and vicious streak wide enough to make up for his other shortcomings. In his time as a page prince, Drizzt had received nothing but cruelty from Rizzen. Even Matron Malice had been kinder.

In moments, Rizzen had been driven from the room, and a flick of the hand and an uttered syllable from Vierna had slammed the door shut. Drizzt observed the room and noticed that in the commotion, Maya had drifted silently into the shadows behind the throne, out of view of almost all of the room's occupants, and Dinin had stepped forward into the central area, putting himself just closer to Matron Malice than his rival, the elderboy Nalfein, who leaned against a supporting pillar just off to the side. Vierna and Briza flanked his mother, just in front of the position where Zaknafein and himself had remained, standing impassively as Rizzen was driven from the room.

All of the room's occupants waited, tense, as Matron Malice drew in a breath to speak. The powerful leader of the city's ninth house smirked as she exhaled and inhaled again, ratcheting up the tension. Eventually the lithe female straightened up in her throne and began to speak. "Tonight," she began, "House Hun'ett will fall."

* * *

Hours later, Drizzt Do'Urden sat cross-legged and leaning against a wall in the Do'Urden compound, nearly invisible in his new armor and _piwafwi_. If anyone could have seen the thirdboy, they would certainly have admired the fine craftsmanship of his equipment, especially the adamantine scimitars on his hips, but few in all the realms could see a drow noble who was trying to remain hidden. Drizzt Do'Urden was bored. When Matron Malice had dramatically announced the impending fall of House Hun'ett, revealing the reason for all the secret preparations in the Do'Urden compound, Drizzt had been thrilled. Adrenaline had coursed through his body at the idea of finally putting his training to use, at being involved in events that would change the history of the city of Menzoberranzan, at going into battle at the side of his brother Nalfein and his mentor Zaknafein, the only two drow he trusted completely, or, indeed, at all. Moments later Drizzt had been struck with horror at the realization that he would be expected to kill drow elves, other living, sentient beings just like himself. He had listened distractedly as Matron Malice had detailed the plan to destroy House Hun'ett and take their place on the ruling council of Menzoberranzan, and had only really paid any attention at all when she informed him of his role in the plan. Which had sounded very exciting when described as the last line of defense, protecting the high priestesses of House Do'Urden from punitive assault by the wicked Hun'etts. And sounded a lot less exciting when described as sitting in a hallway outside the door to the Do'Urden private chapel, where his mother, sisters, and four other priestesses delivered unceasing prayers to the Spider Queen.

An hour earlier the signal had arrived at the Do'Urden compound. Narbondel had almost reached its nadir, the very middle of the Menzoberranzan night, when a massive subterranean lizard had skidded into the entranceway of the cave which housed the Do'Urden compound. A rider had leaped from the lizard's back and announced loudly, "House Teken'duis is under attack!" Within moments, runners had emerged from the guardhouse on the Do'Urden side of the gate, rushing into the main compound. Drizzt had watched from an upper window in the main building as seemingly newly awakened drow elves filed out into the courtyard in various states of disarray, still pulling on robes or pieces of armor. Drizzt had only remained for a few minutes to watch Zaknafein and Rizzen move to the head of the motley assemblage of drow elves before the accumulation of warriors, wizards, and clerics marched out of the compound in something almost resembling order. Drizzt had watched until Zaknafein was out of sight, and then moved to his position in the hallway outside the Do'Urden private chapel, where Matron Malice and the other priestesses were already making preparations.

* * *

At the same time, across Menzoberranzan, Dinin had arrived at the gates of the Academy, purportedly to visit his brother. Nalfein was still a master in the school of wizardry, Sorcere, and as he also had duties as a noble of his house, the elderboy was allowed visits from his family. No matter how important the matter, commoners were never allowed to _visit_ the academy. Upon their graduation, they only came back for two reasons, to teach, or to be turned into driders. Immediately upon being granted entry, Dinin spotted his objective. Walking out across the courtyard of the Academy, Alton DeVir, in the guise of the Faceless One, and Masoj Hun'ett, the younger brother of the Faceless One, and a noble of House Hun'ett, closed in rapidly on Dinin's position. He flattened himself against the wall and drew his _piwafwi_ tight around his body, rapidly disappearing from view. To his relief, neither wizard appeared to notice him.

Dinin's heart rate rose. Finally he would get to avenge himself on the DeVir and Masoj Hun'ett. It had been his task many years ago to ensure the demise of Alton DeVir, and he had executed a masterful plot, bribing a master of Sorcere to quickly and untraceably remove the young drow from existence. Only later had they discovered that the Faceless One had been thwarted, and that with assistance from Masoj Hun'ett, Alton DeVir had lived. Matron Malice had been furious, and Dinin could still feel the scars from the damage inflicted by Briza's snake-headed whip.

A sound from behind him made Dinin whirl, but he relaxed as he came face to face with his brother, the elderboy, Nalfein. Once, having his back to the elderboy would have been the opposite of relaxing for Dinin, but after the birth of House Do'Urden's thirdboy, and especially after the thirdboy's talent had become clear, the male children of House Do'Urden had settled into an uneasy truce. If either of the elder brothers died, then Drizzt would go from the most vaunted position for any male, thirdboy, the chosen of Lloth, to secondboy, the lowest noble position. Then the only way for the talented thirdboy to advance would be to remove the remaining brother. So neither brother could act against the other, for fear of the self-interest of their younger, more talented brother.

A mixture of unintelligible syllables, hand motions, and expensive, irretrievable magical components caused a bright light to burst forth briefly from the palms of Nalfein Do'Urden, expanding and shimmering as it wrapped around Dinin's body. Moments later, the secondboy was charging down the hill from the Academy towards the Hun'ett wizards, none the wiser that an enraged and lethal drow warrior was now tracking them, sword and dagger drawn, ready to exact retribution on those who had foiled him once before. As he neared, Alton DeVir, clumsy and lucky survivor of many foolish encounters with death, noticed him. But a split second's warning was not enough, and Alton DeVir had managed barely any evasive movement before he felt the piercing heat of a dagger penetrating his kidney, and a sword rammed spitefully upwards through his internal organs.

Masoj Hun'ett had merely a moment to react, and to his credit managed to teleport a few feet away, behind a large stalagmite, moments before Dinin's sword would have bisected him. The wizard wasted no time in emptying out his bag of components, casting a number of spells in rapid succession to help him defeat even the most powerful swordsman. Masoj even managed to fire off a quick lightning bolt, slicing it through the attacking swordsman, before seeming to disappear. But Dinin was not the only attacker, as Masoj had thought, and none of his spells were designed to protect him from the unerring impact of fifteen magical missiles released by Nalfein, invisibly watching the battle from where he levitated, high within the stalactites hanging from the ceiling of the massive cavern of Menzoberranzan. Masoj did not live to see Dinin's figure shimmer, almost as an afterimage, as the lightning bolt sliced through it, and for the swordsman's true body to reappear a short distance away.

Dinin smirked as he looked at the two dead bodies, then looked up at the ceiling of the cavern. _Mission Accomplished_ , he signed, in the intricate hand and facial code of the drow. The only response was a stalactite falling to crash to the ground nearby. Dinin sighed. _Oh well_ , he thought to himself, _at least he didn't hit me. If this had been thirty years ago, I would be very dead right now too_.

* * *

Just as Dinin and Nalfein were finishing with the two Hun'ett wizards, Zaknafein and Rizzen were cutting swathes through a variety of lower races, kobolds, troglodytes, orcs, and the like. As well as using their slaves as a vanguard in the attack, it appeared House Freth had left a rear guard of vicious but poorly trained and unintelligent beings. Unlike Rizzen, Zaknafein took no pleasure in cutting the pathetic creatures down, but it was necessary to the plan for Zaknafein to make a believable appearance at the Teken'duis compound, to make the Hun'ett forces believe that House Do'Urden was fully committed to the defense of their allies.

Zaknafein barely needed to focus to continue his onslaught, and so he had plenty of time to consider striking down Rizzen. Zaknafein had no qualms about killing other drow, especially ones as evil and cruel as the Do'Urden patron, and he strongly disliked the younger drow. The only problem was that Malice would take it as a direct affront against her authority, which would cause her to punish Zaknafein. His sister had always been wrathful, as well as obsessed with dominating others. He considered a moment longer. The lack of a consort would also mean that Malice would require someone to warm her bed until she could find a new patron for the house. Which would mean Zaknafein.

Much as he was disgusted by her advances, Zaknafein was both powerless politically and physically to resist. Matron Malice held complete control over whatever aspects of her subjects' lives she chose, and if she ordered him to bed, he could not refuse. And once there, his traitorous body could also not refuse. For all her failings of personality, for all her wickedness and cruelty, Malice was a beautiful drow female, and Zaknafein was too damaged by his past to resist. This had been proven many times in the past, and was evidenced by his two children, Vierna and Drizzt. Drizzt would be leaving to the Academy in a year, and then Zaknafein would be leaving with his only friend, Jarlaxle, to visit the surface. A year of punishment by Malice was a worthy price, he decided, for the removal of a stain such as Rizzen from the city of Menzoberranzan. Moments later, Zaknafein's whip caught Rizzen around the ankles, and the patron flailed as he fell to the ground, only to receive the sharp tip of Zaknafein's sword through his throat, before being trampled under the boots of the advancing warriors of House Do'Urden. A worthy end for Rizzen, Zaknafein decided.

* * *

The moment word arrived at the Hun'ett compound, buried in the heart of a huge stalagmite, that the Do'Urdens had committed their forces to help House Teken'duis, the Hun'ett army marched forth, wave after wave of goblins and kobolds preceding hundreds of drow on the most direct route to the Do'Urden compound. But barely had they turned out of sight of the Hun'ett stalagmite and onto one of Mezoberranzan's major thoroughfares when a much larger group materialized seemingly out of thin air around them. A single drow stepped forward from the surrounding group, dipping into a low bow, and sweeping a broad-brimmed hat, replete with a diatryma feather, from his bald head. "Greetings," said Jarlaxle. "I suggest you surrender."

In the Hun'ett private chapel, scrying from afar, Matron SiNafay cursed. She had seen an opportunity to dispatch a rival, and to show the other houses of Menzoberranzan that House Hun'ett was not to be trifled with. But it appeared she had been set up, and her master plan had been only a step in the deeper plan of Matron Malice Do'Urden. She had been a fool, she realized, to trust Bregan D'Aerthe as her only source of information on the movements of her enemies. SiNafay briefly wondered what Matron Malice could possibly have promised Jarlaxle to convince the master of Bregan D'Aerthe to show his hand so blatantly in such an undertaking, but she pushed the thought to one side and focused on what she could do. She didn't think that her troops would surrender outright to Bregan D'Aerthe, but they would almost certainly be delayed. But no matter. To eliminate a house in Menzoberranzan, all that was necessary was for no nobles to survive. Masoj and Alton were running late, but as soon as the foolish males arrived, she would send them to find and eliminate the eldest two Do'Urden males. Her weapons master and his two proteges were already on their way to eliminate the Do'Urden thirdboy, and after that to break into the private chapel and slaughter the noble females of the house. As long as SiNafay and her priestesses could do their part and disrupt the prayers of the Do'Urdens, the assassins would complete the elimination of House Do'Urden, ninth house, and no-one would again dare to challenge House Hun'ett.

SiNafay smiled as she let herself slip through her mental bond with the Hun'ett weapons master, and watched through his eyes, sensed through his senses as he and his two proteges, invisible, ghosted through the abandoned Do'Urden compound, homing in on the private chapel. She grinned with his elation as he spotted the door to the private chapel, guarded only by a single, seated, bored adolescent. She smirked as she felt her weapons master slide his dual adamantine dirks from their jeweled lizard-leather sheaths, and creep forward to attack the unsuspecting boy.

Drizzt had become alert the moment he heard the first tiny scuffle of leather on stone drift to his ears. In the utter silence to which he had become accustomed over the last hours, even his own shallow breathing sounded like booming. Drizzt remained seated against the wall, feigning boredom, even as he extended his senses to gain any indication of the presence of intruders. Soon, the combinations of minute sounds, slightly altered air draughts, and a hint of tingling smells let Drizzt understand that he was facing three opponents. A whisper of weapons being withdrawn from sheaths gave the young drow confirmation of his belief. He let his eyes drift closed, feigning sleep, then rapidly clenched his hand around the small ceramic ball it held, breaking the delicate shell, before opening his hand just as rapidly. The howls of two of his assailants, blinded by the bright light, so uncommon in the Underdark, emanating from the globe that Briza had given him, allowed Drizzt to rapidly pinpoint the locations of the two, and, snapping his keen scimitars from their sheaths, quickly dispatched the two attackers with precise slices across their throats. The young drow quickly turned to face the last known position of the final attacker.

Fighting blind was difficult, but Drizzt had learned from the greatest weapons master in Menzoberranzan, and he was full of confidence as he turned to face his last opponent. That confidence quickly drained away as he barely dodged a slice to his throat, before being forced to drop prone to evade a blade stabbing towards his stomach. He began a roll to the side, but experience and finely honed senses stopped him just in time, and two metal blades clanged into the stone surface that he had been rolling towards, sending up sparks that singed the young drow's face. He rolled the other way and leapt quickly to his feet, sending his scimitars out in a wild defensive routine to intercept the blades of his opponent. Drizzt was being slowly pushed backwards, and he knew that soon he would be backed into the corner by his opponent, trapped against the wall, without any room to maneuver.

* * *

Meanwhile, Zaknafein was on a mad dash across the city, followed by a host of warriors, wizards, and clerics of House Do'Urden. The moment that the Do'Urden force had penetrated the rear guard of the Freth forces and fallen on the unprotected back side of the attacking force, the Teken'duis soldiers had come out from behind their defenses and begun to engage in earnest. At this pre-arranged moment, the Do'Urden troops had executed an about-face and were now engaged in a headlong dash to the Hun'ett compound, now undefended as the Hun'ett forces sallied out to strike at the Do'Urden compound. Zaknafein would strike at the Hun'ett hierarchy, secluded in the Hun'ett private chapel, while the rest of the Do'Urden force would ransack the rest of the compound, adding both to their own personal wealth and to the Do'Urden coffers. If all went smoothly, there would be nothing for the Hun'ett soldiers to come back to, and, having been delayed by Jarlaxle, they would surrender to the Do'Urdens, becoming an auxiliary wing of the Do'Urden military force. But first, everything would have to go to plan.

As he ran, Zaknafein spared a thought for his son, protege, and most precious person. Drizzt was the sole warrior left in the Do'Urden compound, protecting the priestesses as they prayed to Lloth to grant them the power to bring victory. Zaknafein had taught his son to be the same strong fighter as he himself was, but the boy often seemed even kinder, even more _good_ than Zaknafein himself. Sometimes Zaknafein wanted to run away with the boy, away from Menzoberranzan, but he knew that Malice would never let them get away. Because of this, he was glad that Nalfein had taken an interest in Drizzt, teaching the child the harsh realities of Menzoberranzan that Zaknafein could not bear to teach the child himself. And Drizzt was learning, sometimes so well that it saddened Zaknafein, though the boy was still pure enough to bring a lightness to Zaknafein's heart every time he saw him. Zaknafein hoped that Drizzt would survive the night. Sending the house's strongest warriors to eliminate an opponent's high priestesses was the oldest trick in the book. Hopefully Drizzt would have the ability to defeat an older, more guileful, more cruel opponent. Hopefully Zaknafein would see him again.

Zaknafein shook himself from his reverie as he reached the Hun'ett stalagmite and began to scale an almost impossible route along its outside. Zaknafein had spent days discovering this route and then learning every crack and crevice by heart. Speed was key, and practice gave him that speed as he crashed through a window steps from the private chapel. Whip in his left hand, sword in his right, Zaknafein kicked in the door, and snapped the whip out to catch one priestess around the neck as his sword impaled the twisted heart of another. He continued forward, efficiently ending the lives of the priestesses as he advanced on Matron SiNafay Hun'ett, who seemed not to have even noticed his entrance.

* * *

SiNafay watched through the eyes of her weapons master and sometime lover as he drove the talented youngster back into the corner of the hallway. The young drow had impressed her with the trick with the light and his rapid movement to cut short the lives of the younger assassins, but his eyes remained closed even after the third assassin, the Hun'ett weapon master, had dropped a globe of darkness on the light source, and opened his own eyes, infravision allowing him to see the other drow's heat signature. SiNafay smiled at the guile of her weapons master. The old drow showed his worth to her once again. She continued to watch, anticipating gleefully the moment when the young drow's defense would fail and he would fall to the twin dirks, leaving House Do'Urden's high priestesses utterly undefended. Victory would be hers.

Drizzt continued to fight, and slowly he began to become more controlled in his movements, more balanced, more supple in his parries. He also began to analyze his opponent. Within a few short defensive routines, Drizzt had determined that his opponent fought with dual dirks, and was probably significantly older than even Zaknafein. Moments later, Drizzt deduced that his opponent could also see.

Drizzt's eyes snapped open. The bright light had been extinguished, and as he ducked and deflected Drizzt noticed a globe of darkness covering where he had dropped the ceramic. On level terms now that he could see his opponent, Drizzt tucked his limbs to his chest and rolled to the side, sweeping out a leg as he passed his opponent. The elder drow, unprepared for such a move and with slowing reflexes, clattered to the ground, and barely managed to regain his feet as Drizzt drove towards him, scimitars flashing furiously. Moments later, a dirk went flying as a scimitar knocked it out of the Hun'ett's hand, and the elder drow lunged desperately at Drizzt's left side with his remaining dirk. The young drow calmly sidestepped and raised his left-hand scimitar directly into line with the momentum of the Hun'ett weapon master's throat. The old drow had no time to scream.

Watching through the weapon master's eyes, SiNafay screamed as the scimitar lanced towards their throat. She remained in his body until the split second at which she could feel the touch of the cold adamantine but not the pain of the sharp blade splitting skin, then pulled out of his body along the mental connection to her own body. Her mental shoulders sagged. She had failed.

Back in her own body, SiNafay's eyes snapped open just in time to witness an adamantine sword blade lance towards her neck. In the tiny part of a moment before she died, Matron SiNafay Hun'ett experienced a strong sense of deja vu.

Withdrawing his sword from the lifeless body of one of Lloth's most devoted followers, Zaknafein smiled.


	12. Aftermath

The celebrations in the Do'Urden compound began as Narbondel began to rise and continued an entire day, until it once again reached its nadir. Matron Malice, Briza, and the others had emerged from the private chapel shortly after the death of Matron SiNafay, and upon seeing the bodies of three experienced drow warriors waiting for her, Malice began to shower praise on her third son, the proof of Lloth's favor towards House Do'Urden. Even Briza, who hated males with a passion, was impressed by the thirdboy, and offered him brief and grudging congratulation on his prowess. Only Vierna, the most sensitive of the Do'Urden females, noticed the pain hidden behind the lavender eyes of her brother. But she had no time to address it privately before Drizzt was whisked away at her mother's side to be congratulated in front of all the returning warriors of Do'Urden.

Hours later, Drizzt had secluded himself on the rooftop of one of the buildings in the Do'Urden compound, high above the revelers still in the courtyard, drinking, gambling, fighting and making love in the dirt. The young drow was torn, unable to stop thinking about the events earlier in the day. He had ended the lives of three other drow, and Drizzt could not help feeling that it was wrong to kill other thinking, feeling beings, especially drow, who were so similar to himself. But at the same time, those drow had been willing to kill him, and to kill his family, and to end the Do'Urden clan, so Drizzt could not understand why he did not feel like a hero. Matron Malice had certainly thought he deserved repeated accolades, first in front of the returning warriors of House Do'Urden, then again in front of the soldiers of Bregan D'Aerthe who had arrived in the compound to join the revelry, and finally lauding his accomplishments to the captured common soldiers of House Hun'ett, who were beginning their integration as common soldiers of the newly more powerful House Do'Urden, eighth house of Menzoberranzan.

Even Briza had congratulated him, a moment that Drizzt still could not quite believe. But no amount of congratulation could take away the nagging sense that he had done something wrong. The adolescent dark elf wondered about the family and friends of the drow elves whom he had killed. Certainly, he thought, he would have been devastated if Zaknafein or Nalfein had not returned from the fighting, and in his desperation to win, he wondered, could he have overlooked an opportunity to save the lives of his opponents, and return them to their families unharmed? Drizzt, lost in thought, didn't even notice a drow elf, formerly of House Hun'ett, slowly scaling a stalagmite to approach his position from behind.

* * *

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the compound, Matron Malice had returned to her throne room, and summoned Zaknafein to join her. Malice had been drinking heavily, flushed with victory and the resolution of her ambition to one day join the ruling council of Menzoberranzan. As she waited, she took another swig from her eight-legged chalice, filled with a strong mushroom spirit brewed by the kobolds of the Clawrift. She gasped with pleasure as its heat tore down her throat, and went to pull another long draught from the chalice, but before she could, the door crept slowly open. Zaknafein stood in the entrance, hood pulled up over his head, and swords attached firmly to his hip as always. "Ah, brother," Malice greeted him, slightly too drunk to find her usual husky and sultry tone, "It's so good to see you. And to see Rizzen of course," here she giggled slightly, for despite her great power, the high priestess was still susceptible to getting a little tipsy, "But oh wait, Rizzen isn't here, is he?" Zaknafein restrained a flinch as Malice lifted her petite but powerful body from the throne and swayed towards him, in what Zaknafein assumed must be Malice's drunken attempt at a sultry sashay. Resigned to his fate, and knowing that he had implicitly agreed to it when he thrust his sword into Malice's former lover, Zaknafein stood stiff as a statue as Malice approached him, raising herself onto her toes to place herself so close to him that he could smell the spirits on her breath.

Malice spoke again, her voice low in her range, quietly, barely slurring her words. "So, Zaknafein, brother," she asked, a hint of threat and a hint of lust entering her tone, the two commingled as they so often were with the dangerous and lustful Matron, "where is Rizzen? I was so sure that you would uphold your end of the deal. When you asked me to choose another lover, anyone but you, when you said you would sire no more children for me, despite your power and prowess, because you 'didn't think it was right,'" Malice spat these words out with the excessive venom she reserved for drow elves like Zaknafein who did not welcome the chaos and baseness of Lloth's following, "you promised me that you would make sure my new patron would come to no harm. But that snivelling weakling isn't here, and you are, brother," Malice giggled, the most unnerving sound that Zaknafein had ever heard, "So I assume you're ready for the consequences."

As she finished speaking, Malice raised herself just slightly higher, and, quick as the snakes that headed her cruel whip, snapped closer to the unmoving weapons master and grasped his lower lip between her teeth in a cruel kiss. Her hands shot out, one grasping the back of Zaknafein's head, drawing him in closer, the other grasping his buttocks, nearly lifting the male off his feet with the power of Malice's grip.

Zaknafein was powerless to resist his Matron, but was horrified by the actions she was taking. Zaknafein was not unused to Malice's advances, as she had commanded him to bed many times, but the male could not help the familiar sense of wrongness, despite its accompaniment by stirring primal urges. He sighed inwardly. He had known the consequences when he had despatched the Malice's patron, and it had been a long time since Zaknafein had known the comfort of a female, especially one as shapely and skilful as Matron Malice.

* * *

Jarlaxle had been with his old friend when Zaknafein received the summons from Matron Malice, and for lack of better things to do, the eccentric rogue had followed his companion, at a very safe distance, beyond even Zaknafein's keen senses and instincts, to the throne room. Jarlaxle smirked as he began to understand the terms of the agreement that it seemed Matron Malice had made with Zaknafein to prevent the male posturing and infighting that plagued the male hierarchy of many houses in Menzoberranzan. Not many drow males would strike a bargain to _avoid_ the opportunity to fornicate with the beautiful and powerful matron mother. Rizzen had even been willing to give up all dignity and freedom just for that very opportunity.

Jarlaxle pondered why Zaknafein would give up the stable truth as he listened absently to the sounds of his closest friend rutting with his employer for the previous night's martial activities. Eventually the cunning rogue arrived at a workable solution, which, of course, hinged around the weapon master's strange devotion to his son, the thirdboy, Drizzt. Zaknafein seemed to think that the boy had inherited his odd moral code, more similar to that of the elves of the surface than the drow elves, and to protect this seed, Zaknafein was willing to sacrifice himself to Malice's tender care in order to remove the influence of the weak minded and heinous Rizzen, the boy's _official_ father. And of course, in less than a year, the boy would be off to Melee-Magthere, the school of fighters, Zaknafein would be released into Jarlaxle's service, away from Malice, and Rizzen would still be permanently dead. Not a bad solution, Jarlaxle decided with a wry smile. Of course, the rogue mused, as the sounds of approaching climax reached him from inside the room, anything scheme that Zaknafein could come up with, Malice could easily decipher, so he imagined that Malice would use Zaknafein as hard as she could in the coming year. He shrugged. Maybe he should help relieve his friend of some of the burden. When a spent and dejected Zaknafein finally left the room, the master of Bregan D'Aerthe slipped unnoticed inside the door, taking in the lovely view of an unclothed Matron Malice.

* * *

Lost in thought, Drizzt Do'Urden barely noticed the presence approaching behind him, and only whirled around, drawing his scimitars in one smooth motion, making sure to set his feet well on the damp, smooth tiles that roofed the building on which he had perched. To his surprise, the approaching drow elf, hooded, but clearly a female and an adolescent like himself, crossed her arms over her chest in the drow signal for approaching in peace. Drizzt observed the approaching female, her toned legs, slender waist, and small but shapely bosom, but could not place her figure to any of the drow he had seen in the Do'Urden compound. As the unfamiliar drow stopped and pulled back her hood, shaking loose a smooth curtain of white hair, Drizzt confirmed that she was not a Do'Urden. "Not another step," he growled. "Hands where I can see them, and answer my questions directly." Wary of the unknown female using a clerical spell against him, Drizzt watched her hands closely and sheathed one scimitar so that he could palm a ceramic globe into his hand. If the unknown female decided to begin casting, Drizzt was ready to spring into action to disrupt the spell, preferably without having to kill anyone else.

The unknown female extended her hands from her sleeves, and smiled, waiting for Drizzt to speak again. This slightly reassured the young male, and his tone was kinder when he resumed speaking. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Zayana," the female replied, "Once of House Hun'ett, now of No House Worth Mentioning. Hopefully soon I will be of House Do'Urden." Drizzt had been aware of the outcomes of Menzoberranzan's internecine conflicts since Nalfein had first told him about the fall of House DeVir, many years ago, so he was not surprised by the cavalier manner in which Zayana treated her membership of House Hun'ett. Only the nobles of Menzoberranzan's houses held any true attachment to their house, and that was merely because they were almost always murdered in the fall of a house. For the common soldiers, they gave their loyalty to whichever house was more powerful.

"Greetings, Zayana," Drizzt spoke, now at much greater ease, although still unwilling to sheath his other scimitar, "My name is Drizzt Do'Urden, thirdboy of House Do'Urden. Why are you here on this rooftop, and not down below, in the celebration?" Whatever he was expecting, Drizzt was certainly unprepared for her reply.

"For the same reason as you, I imagine," the attractive adolescent replied. "Because you killed my father."

Drizzt stood still for a moment, shocked. Then he raised his scimitar back to a guard position, ready for an impending assault. But moments of studying the face of the female facing him convinced the young drow that he was not under threat. He sheathed his scimitar and attempted to apologize. Unfortunately, the language of the drow did not contain the appropriate words to apologize, so Drizzt was forced to settle on a similar statement. "It was not my intention," the adolescent stated, "to cause pain to you, and if I could have not slain him, I would have avoided it."

"I have heard, and I have seen," Zayana replied, "which makes you a very strange drow, Drizzt Do'Urden. But you misunderstand. I have come to convey my gratitude, and also to offer you my alliance. My father, Kas'im, was the Blademaster of House Hun'ett, but he was not my mother's consort, and his jealousy caused him to be cruel to me. I do not mourn his loss. But I am intrigued by you, Drizzt Do'Urden." Zayana stepped closer and Drizzt felt his skin tingle, and his breaths begin to come slightly faster. Zayana lowered her voice, dropping it almost to a whisper, as she continued to close the gap. "I have heard of you, Drizzt Do'Urden," she repeated his name almost like a chant, "In my time in this compound. They say you are the most talented with a blade ever to live in Menzoberranzan. You defeated the finest three warriors of House Hun'ett. And yet they say you have no ambition, that you do not guard your emotions, that you avoid those with power and only speak to your mentor, your brother, and your wean-mother. How interesting you are, Drizzt Do'Urden."

Zayana was now only a step away and Drizzt could feel his heart pounding. He could smell her scent, just a light hint of perfume, and found himself lost in her bright red eyes, yet taking in the entirety of her graceful body. But Drizzt was still confused, so he stuttered out words, trying to buy time to sort out his emotions. "But," he began, "I'm not special, I'm no different really to any other drow, and I killed your father, and how can you speak to me when I took away a part of your life?" The young drow was almost pleading by the end for answers, to soothe his conscience, but no salvation was forthcoming. Zayana merely reached forward and encircled him in her arms, pulling him close to her, and whispered in his ear, "Because you're powerful, and you're mysterious, and because a true drow elf cares about no-one but herself." Drizzt's eyes widened at this last statement, but it was too late to pull away before her soft lips were pressed to his, and he surrendered to her desires.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So this chapter is finally here, it was very difficult to write because I knew what I wanted to get across to the audience, but I couldn't figure out how. Anyway. As you may have noticed, things got a little more M rated in this chapter. I personally think that any story about the drow is going to walk the line between T and M, but to save my rating, there will be no explicit intercourse in this story. However, I am toying with the idea of a separate, M rated story, "Thirdboy Outtakes," in which I include the very M rated in between scenes, as a corollary for anyone who is interested. Yes, this chapter was very sex oriented. No, none of the other ones will be quite this bad. But it's a massive drow party. What do you expect? A prayer circle? At drow parties, there's sex, drinking, gambling and fighting. Anyway, keep an eye out for "Outtakes," and keep an eye out for the next chapter of "Thirdboy." Thanks for reading!


	13. Interim

**Interim:**

Nalfein returned to Sorcere two days after the destruction of Hun'ett, and was unsurprised by the brutal politicking occurring between the Masters. The 'Faceless One' had died, opening up the position of Vice-Chancellor of Sorcere, which coincidentally happened to be the fourth most powerful position for a wizard in the entirety of Menzoberranzan. Gromph, Matron Baenre's son, held the position of archmage, the most powerful wizard in the city, and of Baenre's personal wizard, the third most powerful. Hir'ken, Chancellor of Sorcere, held the second most powerful position. Every other Master of Sorcere, and a good number of other powerful wizards, were vying for the open seat.

After two more days had gone by, the matter had been settled, and Nalfein held the seat. It had been easy, really. A combination of words in the right ears, along with favors called in, from Nalfein himself, Matron Malice, and, most surprisingly, Jarlaxle of Bregan D'Aerthe, had made the outcome of the selection process a foregone conclusions. All competitors, except for the bravest, and therefore most foolish, had recused themselves from the selection process, and the few remaining candidates were so clearly weaker, both magically and politically, than the elderboy of Menzoberranzan's eighth house, that the ruling council, aided by the Archmage and the Chancellor of Sorcere, could not help but select Nalfein as the new Vice-Chancellor of Sorcere. Which instantly put more knives, and fireballs, at his back.

Which left Nalfein, four days after the accession of House Do'Urden to the ruling council, lying on his back on the feather bed in his heavily warded quarters in the Vice-Chancellor's suite, staring at the ceiling. "I've got to get out of here," he grumbled to himself. "Stress like this almost makes the job not worth it." Of course, Nalfein truly was his mother's son, and nothing less than the maximum available power would satisfy him. But that did not mean that the cunning wizard was willing to open himself up to any attacks on his standing. Which meant that he would have to get away for a little while. As he lay there, an idea came to him.

* * *

Meanwhile, Zaknafein lay on his back in his own bed in his quarters in the Do'Urden compound. The weapons master had seen a change in Drizzt after the battle with Do'Urden, and all the combat experience in the world could not prepare Zaknafein for the challenge of mentoring a child with a conscience, forced into murder by the twisted rules of the drow society in which he lived. And Zaknafein did not have much time to help his charge, either. It was mere months until Drizzt would join the Academy, in Melee-Magthere, the school of warriors, where killing was an everyday practice and betrayal came easier than breathing. Zaknafein himself had only made it through with his soul intact due to his friendship with Jarlaxle, and the weapons master doubted such a friend would be available to his son. The rogue leader was one of a kind, able to be everything to everyone. A Baenre thirdboy would be with Drizzt, however, though Zaknafein knew little of Berg'inyon, Jarlaxle's younger brother, and replacement in the Baenre household.

Zaknafein sighed deeply. He himself would be absent, leaving with Jarlaxle the day Drizzt joined the Academy for Jarlaxle's trip to the surface. For a moment, Zaknafein let himself dream of staying, of escaping Menzoberranzan, but then, as it always did, reality came crashing back down. Zaknafein knew he could never leave his children, Vierna and Drizzt, and that Malice would never let him leave for good. His leaving would only cause pain and strife in House Do'Urden, and despite their more unpleasant, often homicidal, tendencies, Zaknafein loved his family. Zaknafein would return, and he could only hope that it was the same Drizzt Do'Urden to whom he would return. With a long exhalation, Zaknafein rolled over and tried to catch some sleep.

* * *

Less than a week passed before Nalfein found his opportunity. A case was brought before the Masters of Sorcere, and Nalfein could barely restrain his glee as he volunteered to investigate, personally. A raiding party had just returned from the surface, where they had engaged in a successful attack on a group of moon elves. However, before the party had managed to return, a fireball cast by one of the wizards grew to many times its usual size, incinerating a good number of drow elves, including a known rival of the caster. Differences between surface magic and that of the Underdark were of course blamed by the returning drow wizard, and the council of Masters had been about to leave it at that and issue a proclamation banning wizards from travelling to the surface, when Nalfein had raised his voice. A slight use of executive privilege, a hint that he might not return, thus leaving his position open for an ambitious master to fill, and an appeal to curiosity about the true facts of the case, and Nalfein was granted leave to travel to the surface and investigate.

As he left the council chamber, Nalfein caught smirks on the faces of many of the drow in the room. They clearly thought that he would not return from a trip alone through the Underdark to the hostile surface, much less the return journey. But they didn't count on his knowledge of an expedition about to get underway, comprising of the two most dangerous drow males currently alive in Menzoberranzan, and a solid portion of Bregan D'Aerthe's forces. Now he just needed to figure out what he needed to offer Zaknafein to book a spot on an expedition far, far away from the knives and dweomers of Sorcere's Masters.

* * *

Drizzt had not slept alone in two weeks. When he had finally returned to the weapons hall, his home while he was apprenticed to Zaknafein, after the battle, he had lasted less than three hours of sleeplessness and nightmares before he had stuffed an armor mannequin under his bedroll and left to find Zayana. At least now he got some sleep, in between other activities. And while he did not imagine for a moment that Zaknafein was fooled by it, he returned early enough in the morning to move the mannequin back to where it had been, and pretend to have slept in his own bed all night. It was easier that way, and as long as Zaknafein was willing to not ask questions, Drizzt was more than willing to not have questions asked of him. It was eight months until Drizzt would join Melee-Magthere, and Zaknafein would leave to the surface. Drizzt wanted to make the most of that time with his mentor, not spend it fighting about sleeping arrangements.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Thirdboy: Outtakes has finally been published. Please read it, if you are of the correct age and/or maturity to do so. I am busy, which means that I have about 40 hours a week to write, and I choose to use them all relaxing in other ways. Sorry. Not sorry. Hopefully Chapter 14 will be written soonish. It's time for Drizzt to go to the Academy.**


	14. Melee-Magthere

**Melee-Magthere:**

Drizzt Do'Urden was twenty years old. Jarlaxle had arrived at the Do'Urden compound the previous day, flamboyantly dressed as always, and had let himself and a small retinue in to see Matron Malice. An hour later and both Zaknafein and Nalfein had said their goodbyes to the youngest Do'Urden, and were on their way to the surface. Now Drizzt Do'Urden walked through the stone streets of Menzoberranzan at the side of the secondboy, his brother Dinin. Like his elder brother, Nalfein, and sister, Vierna, Dinin was a Master in the Academy of Tier Breche. While Nalfein was a wizard, and Vierna a cleric, Dinin was a fighter, a Master in the school of Melee-Magthere. Which is where the pair of drow were heading. Having turned twenty this year, Drizzt Do'Urden would be a member of the new class of students entering the elite school for warriors.

Drizzt was well aware as he strode through the streets at his brother's side of the threats all around most dangerous threat was of course his brother, walking at his side. With both Zaknafein and Nalfein out of Menzoberranzan on a dangerous and potentially deadly journey to the surface, Dinin's only competition for the positions of favored male of the house, and for Weapons Master of the house, was his younger, more talented brother Drizzt. Almost any drow would see the sense in eliminating the competition before raw talent turned into actual skill. At the moment, Drizzt was not too worried about this threat, however. Even for the treacherous drow, an open attack under the light of Narbondel would be a step too far. But any member of the crowds thronging them, all of whom backed rapidly out of the way the moment they recognized the stitching on the brothers' _piwafwi_ cloaks, could be an assassin from another house, aiming to undermine the strength of House Do'Urden.

Eventually the Do'Urden second- and thirdboys stepped into the cavern of Tier Breche, which housed the Academy, and headed towards the pyramidal structure of Melee-Magthere, the school of fighters. There was a small crowd there already, no more than thirty or forty young drow males. Drizzt noticed a number of embroidered _piwafwi_ cloaks showing that their wearers were nobles of their houses, but also some plain cloaks. These were the ones he took most note of. While all nobles were automatically sent to the academy, the cost of educating a commoner at the academy was vast, and thus only the commoners with the greatest potential were sent to the academy.

As Drizzt arrived, the crowd slowly began to turn its attention away from Berg'inyon Baenre, thirdboy of the first house, towards Drizzt himself. Nalfein had warned him that he would be famous, as the recent successes of House Do'Urden were famous among the drow elves of Menzoberranzan, and Drizzt himself was the first thirdboy of any house other than Baenre since the founding of the city. Berg'inyon, of course, was the only other thirdboy currently living in the city. Drizzt was therefore just as interesting, and the unspoken belief of the crowd of young drow fighters around them was that a rivalry between the two thirdboys of the two most powerful houses was predestined. The attention made Drizzt uncomfortable, but he straightened his back and continued to walk forwards until Dinin's hand on his shoulder stopped him. Then the older drow left to join the Masters, and Drizzt was left to the mercy of curious drow.

It appeared that more than just Drizzt's reputation as thirdboy of House Do'Urden had preceded him. It took a crowd of adolescent drow males only minutes to realize that the jeweled scimitars Drizzt wore would not be coming out of their sheaths in reply to any questions, and soon questions were pouring in thick and fast about his fight with Kas'im, the Hun'ett Blademaster. Drizzt had been schooled thoroughly in how to respond to questions about such activities by Briza in the months before he left, aided by liberal use of the high priestess' snake-headed whip, and the young drow now answered the questions with vagaries, adding just enough detail to the story to satisfy his listeners, without giving away too many specifics about his actions. "Any information you give your enemies," Briza had repeated over and over again, punctuated with cracks of the whip, "will be used against you, unless you use it against them." While Drizzt didn't want to consider his classmates his enemies, he understood all too well that in the city of the drow everyone must be considered an enemy.

* * *

It was some time still until the doors to Melee-Magthere were opened and the students were allowed to enter, but eventually they were led to the Hall of Lore, and at the entrance were compelled to give up their weapons. Drizzt reluctantly handed over his scimitars to Master Hatch'net before entering. He was no fool though. The dirks that he had taken from the body of Blademaster Kas'im Hun'ett were still safely tucked into his boots. He had no doubts that the other students were similarly equipped, and he found it very unlikely that Master Hatch'net was unaware of this. But, he mused, as with everything in Menzoberranzan, appearances were not so much deceptive as instructive. The trick was to know what it was supposed to teach.

Master Hatch'net's classroom was kept warm, and the heat of the classroom was only exceeded by the old Lore Master's fiery invective. The ancient drow, long white hair thinning towards the front, lectured for untold hours each day on all the ills perpetrated towards the dark elves by the surface elves, and on the blessings bestowed towards the drow by the Spider Queen in exchange for their undying service. Drizzt knew better than to say anything, but in his heart he knew he could never be a follower of Lloth. But the adolescent remembered his first meeting with Veraz, the cleric of Eilistraee, and Nalfein's orders to never outwardly decry or deny the Spider Queen anything. Nobles could have their entire house fall out of the Spider Queen's favor with just a single wrong word. So Drizzt sat in Master Hatch'net's overly warm classroom and listened to sixty days of poisonous rhetoric, shouting out in outraged unison with his classmates over every imagined evil perpetrated by the surface elves, and every night returned to his bed and held his scimitars until he fell asleep.

On the sixty-first day, the students arrived at the Hall of Lore to find the door closed. It was time for the annual Grand Melee, by which the students would be sorted into their first official ranking.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm back. I've been busy, and daunted by the task of moving into the new arc of the story. I wanted to write a much longer chapter, but again, it didn't quite fit, so you got like the fourth filler chapter in a row. Sorry. Anyway, thanks to all my followers, favoriters, and reviewers, especially those of you who are new or have been with me from the start, or who joined somewhere in the middle. As usual, no ETA for my next chapter, but don't expect it too soon. However, lots of begging and nice reviews might convince me to write it quicker.


	15. The Grand Melee

**The Grand Melee:**

The antechamber to the dueling arena was deathly quiet. Tension hung heavy in the air, and Drizzt could sense that his classmates were all aware of, and keenly anticipating, what lay before them. Nobody spoke as Dinin entered, wheeling in a large wooden case, filled with mock weapons of all shapes and sizes. Drizzt barely listened to Dinin announce the purpose and procedures of the Grand Melee. Zaknafein had told him all about it. Once the deadly Do'Urden Weapons Master had resigned himself to the fact that Drizzt would be leaving his care to enter the Academy, the elder drow had given Drizzt all the information the adolescent would need to survive and be successful. Drizzt had been eagerly anticipating the Grand Melee, hoping to equal Zaknafein's record of consistently finishing top of the class.

Eventually Dinin's speech ended and the Do'Urden secondboy began wheeling the case of weapons around the room, allowing each prospective drow warrior to find the weapon with which he was most comfortable. Drizzt himself selected two slightly curved poles, sighing only slightly at their lack of balance compared to his familiar scimitars. He practiced a couple of basic practice routines to familiarize himself with the new weapons, but was forced to stop by a presence at his shoulder. "Would you like to team up?" a voice asked. Drizzt turned to see Kelnozz of House Kenafin, a commoner who wielded only a single sword pole. Drizzt shrugged. "Why not?" he replied. "The others are teaming up as well, and you seem a worthy partner." Moments later, with another reminder that once a blue light struck a participant they would be out of the melee, Master Hatch'net began the countdown. Drizzt, Kelnozz hot on his heels, ran into the maze, eyes widening at the quantity and variety of obstacles. Drizzt turned seemingly at random, charging across bridges, sliding through tunnels, and leaping down from ledges, before stopping in a small open space surrounded by high walls. Three seconds later, Master Hatch'net reached the end of his count, and the Grand Melee began. A second after that, Drizzt's scimitar tips pressed into Kelnozz's back, and blue light limned the commoner of House Kenafin. Up on the catwalk, Dinin's face turned ashen grey.

* * *

Zaknafein Do'Urden was somewhat irritated. He had been traversing the Underdark for sixty-two days, with his only true friend, a sadistic, megalomaniacal drow rogue, and his nephew, a sadistic, ruthless drow wizard as his only company. And despite Jarlaxle's platitudes and pacifications, Zaknafein knew two things for a fact. Firstly, they were absolutely, undeniably, indubitably lost, and Jarlaxle was a fool to continue trying to use a map which the rogue claimed he had obtained from a half-orc, who supposedly stole it from a human wizard. Everyone knew half-orcs were too dense to do anything properly, let alone steal from a powerful wizard. Secondly, Jarlaxle and Nalfein were absolutely letting Zaknafein do all the work. Not only was the Weapons Master carrying all the food, a tent, and for some reason an extra wide-brimmed hat, complete with diatryma feather, but somehow every time a monster appeared, from a small tribe of kobolds, to a platoon of hook horrors, to a minor demon which had somehow got loose in the Underdark, Jarlaxle and Nalfein were of no help at all, and Zaknafein and his twin swords had to get all three of them out of trouble.

So Zaknafein was very irritated, and only barely managed to restrain himself from various hurtful remarks about Jarlaxle's parentage when the flamboyant rogue declared "Here we are! Just around this corner, compatriots, is the surface!" Zaknafein was very glad of his almost inhuman levels of restraint when they rounded the corner, and, to his great surprise, walked out into a fresh breeze, into a massive cavern filled with pinpricks of visible light, and large, fluffy beasts up above. "What is this?" he whispered, voice cracking in awe at the sight. "What cavern have you found, Jarlaxle, so great that the ceiling cannot be seen?"

"No cavern,old friend," came the soft, also awestruck reply, "but the surface. There is no ceiling above us, merely the great beyond. This is the night sky that the surface dwellers write so much about. You can see the stars, and clouds, and feel the wind on your face. Across these mountains," and here the rogue gestured with a bejeweled hand back towards the cave that the drow elves had just exited, "lies the city of Memnon, within the great Calim desert. If this map is correct, we are mere miles from the town of Faeressar, on the outskirts of the Marching Mountains."

Zaknafein let out a long breath. The drow warrior was in disbelief that he had finally arrived at the surface, a place of myth and cautionary tales to drow elves, but also a place of great wonder to those drow who could see beyond the lies of their society. For Zaknafein himself, the surface was a hallowed land, full of the prospects of adventure, camaraderie and loyalty, concepts completely alien to Menzoberranzan. Even the darkness was different on the surface, and Zaknafein's eyes were struggling to adjust. The surface was full of open spaces all of the same temperature, such that it was difficult to differentiate anything other than the heat signatures of his companions from the grey milieu of the surface air, so unlike the Underdark, with its cool black stone surfaces, and heat currents swirling through enclosed spaces, mosses and molds respiring with a slightly greater heat than the stones on which they rested.

Jarlaxle's voice brought Zaknafein from his reverie. "On the surface," the rogue spoke, "dark elves are not safe, we are not well-known, and we are greatly feared. We are strong, but there are three of us, and thousands of surface dwellers. So it is best that we do not present ourselves as drow elves. Thus," the flamboyant drow elf declared with a flourish, "I have brought _disguises_." Not for the first time, Zaknafein sighed deeply.

* * *

Kelnozz of House Kenafin may have been a commoner, but he was not a mere household drow elf. He was the finest prospective warrior that House Kenafin had produced in many years, as had been confirmed by the fact that he, a commoner, had been sent to the Academy at Tier-Breche by Matron Karliah Kenafin. And thus, when he was eliminated from the Grand Melee first in his class, at a rank of seventy-second in his year-group, after less than a second had passed of the combat stage, he was mightily enraged. "You cheated!" the young warrior screamed, turning to face his ertswhile ally, Drizzt Do'Urden, thirdboy of the city's eighth house.

"As if you were not planning to do the same once you had made best use of me," the thirdboy replied, stating his piece calmly and pleasantly, but nonetheless drawing himself up to his full height, a hand's width taller than the commoner. For this, Kelnozz had no response other than to draw the wooden pole that he had been provided in lieu of a sword to attack the Do'Urden noble. This turned out to be an incalculably bad decision. A powerful thrust towards Drizzt was deflected easily by a spinning scimitar-pole wielded in one hand, while the scimitar-pole held in the Do'Urden's other hand was driven repeatedly against Kelnozz's sword arm, forcing him to relinquish his grip on the sword-pole. This, however, was not the worst of it. A lightning bolt thundered down from the catwalk, released from a wand held by Master Hatch'net, who scowled down at Kelnozz. "When you are called out," the master growled, "It would befit you to act as such. And you were very much called out."

After that, Kelnozz of House Kenafin stayed down.

Life was not so easy for Drizzt Do'Urden. The noise had attracted a number of groups of drow elves to Drizzt's location, and while there was plenty of fighting in the narrow halls, it was not long before three adolescent drow were staring down at him. Drizzt smirked, a chilling smile that shook the confidence of the attackers. Three adolescents, first year students of Melee-Magthere, were hardly any match for even one of the apprentices of the former Blademaster of House Hun'ett. And Drizzt had killed the Blademaster and his two apprentices. A moment's silence, and then two of the drow leaped from their higher vantage point down to Drizzt's level. The thirdboy spun instantly into action, disarming and defeating both before either had touched the ground. He looked up at the third, who had stayed behind on the ledge, fixing him with a level gaze. The third drow shrugged at Drizzt, turned, and walked away.

The Grand Melee saw many encounters for Drizzt Do'Urden, until finally there were but two drow left standing in the entire arena. Berg'inyon Baenre crept slowly through the tunnels until finally he stumbled across Drizzt, sitting quietly, cross-legged, in the open space that he and Kelnozz had chosen to start the melee, surrounded by the prone forms of at least a dozen defeated enemies. Berg'inyon's eyebrows raised minutely. In the battle of thirdboys, it seemed, Drizzt so far held the advantage. The Baenre thirdboy had struck out on his own from the beginning, and currently claimed six victories for himself, less than half those of the thirdboy of the eighth house. But Berg'inyon was no fool. Subtlety could win battles that skill could not. The Baenre thirdboy called on his innate powers to limn his foe in the lilac light of faerie fire, before dropping a globe of impenetrable darkness around his opponent. The Baenre continued his slow creep towards the Do'Urden's location, taking care to move with absolute silence. Berg'inyon readied himself to leap into the darkness and defeat his opponent, to claim victory in the Grand Melee for himself. And stopped, as the tip of a curved wooden pole pressed against his chest. Out of the darkness stepped Drizzt Do'Urden, glowing with faerie fire still, scimitar-poles in hand. Drizzt Do'Urden had won his first Grand Melee. And not since Zaknafein Do'Urden had teamed up with Jarlaxle Baenre centuries earlier had two warriors defeated more than a score of opponents between them.


	16. Homecoming

**Homecoming:**

The gate of the Academy receded into the distance behind Drizzt Do'Urden as he strode along the stone path away from Tier-Breche, lengthening his stride to keep up with Vierna, Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, second daughter of House Do'Urden, and his sister. Vierna had arrived outside of Drizzt's dormitory mere minutes after he himself had returned, still ecstatic from his complete victory in the Grand Melee, and demanded that the young drow follow her. Now, Drizzt recognized from his few forays through Menzoberranzan, they were heading back to the Do'Urden compound. After a meager sixty-one days in Melee-Magthere, Drizzt Do'Urden was returning home.

By the end of their journey, Drizzt had finally plucked up the courage to ask Vierna what was happening. Vierna explained that the noble families of Menzoberranzan could recall their children from the Academy at any time if they were needed for family matters, much as the children of House Teken'duis had been recalled to aid in their defense when it became apparent that Freth would strike against them. Apparently Matron Malice had also left instructions with Vierna to return Drizzt to the Do'Urden compound if he were to be successful in his first Grand Melee.

Once they reached the compound, Drizzt was hurried into the Throne Room to meet with Matron Malice, who took great delight in making the thirdboy recount the details of his victory, especially his simple defeat of Matron Baenre's son. Eventually, however, Malice tired of this, and cleared the room, leaving only Vierna and Drizzt with her.

"Drizzt, my son," she began, "You are very talented, as I am sure you know. There will be few enemies who can stand against you face to face. But in Menzoberranzan, few enemies will ever stand against you face to face. You are not like the rest of us. You are much more like Zaknafein, full of strange ideals and irrepressible talent. It is a madness that afflicts many of this family to a greater or lesser extent." At this, the powerful priestess directed a flat, knowing gaze at Vierna, and Drizzt could have sworn that his finely honed senses detected a minute shiver from his sister. "I have brought you here today to warn you, and to protect you," his mother continued, "as you do not seem to take so naturally to common sense as you should. Winning that tournament was a great achievement, but it was stupid. You are now the target for every blade in the academy. Even the older years shall be sharpening their daggers for your back. And so I shall protect you. Nalfein left this with me before he left for the surface, for you, should you need it." The older drow proffered a small onyx figurine balanced in her palm towards her youngest son. "Take it," she commanded. Drizzt hurried to do her bidding. "Now," the matron continued, "speak to it. Call for Guenhwyvar."

Drizzt did so and suddenly a huge black panther congealed out of billowing smoke from the figurine. Vierna gasped and stepped quickly backward, while Malice merely chuckled. Drizzt said nothing, did nothing, merely opened his eyes somewhat wider. Unsure of the protocol, he bowed to Matron Malice. "Thank you, mother," the adolescent drow spoke. "It is a fine gift."

Malice cackled. "Nalfein took it from the body of Masoj Hun'ett when he killed that snivelling excuse for a wizard. It is yours now. Use it at night to guard you as you sleep. The knives of Menzoberranzan are long and sharp. Now begone. You return to Melee-Magthere at dawn."

The Do'Urden siblings had barely left the Throne Room before Vierna turned to Drizzt and spoke, allowing a small measure of admiration to enter her voice. "I am very impressed with your prowess," she began, "it does the family proud, and shows the value of Zaknafein's tutelage." Drizzt's back straightened with pride, hearing such words from the sister he most respected, and praise of the mentor whom he idolized. However, he was completely unprepared for what happened next. Vierna placed her hand on his shoulder and steered him away from the main compound, towards her own chambers. "Come with me, Drizzt, we have much to discuss."

* * *

Out in the hot sun of the Calim desert, Jarlaxle was trying to give his companions a pep talk, and failing. "The good news," he said, "is that we are very close to the town of Faeressar, home of an enclave of the Janessar, a group that patrol the desert against bandits and thieves. The bad news is that drow elves are considered undesirables on the surface. So we should be safe from bandits and thieves, but not from the Janessar."

Zaknafein sighed deeply. "All in favor of not going there?"

"Then let us cross the mountains," Jarlaxle replied, "To Memnon!"

* * *

Entering Vierna's chambers took minutes as the high priestess removed the necessary wards and locking spells to allow not only herself, but Drizzt as well, entry. "Sit," she said, pointing to a stool at the foot of her bed, by her dresser. Drizzt sat as the beautiful priestess divested herself of her heavy outer robe, revealing only a thin, translucent shift as she walked over to sit on the end of her bed. She smirked as she watched Drizzt try to figure out where to look, his lower seating position placing his eyeline right at her buxom chest. The adolescent eventually settled on a line of vision and his older sister began to speak.

"This room is warded against all forms of scrying," she told Drizzt, keeping her voice low and husky, "and against allowing sound to escape, but it can never hurt to be cautious. We may speak freely, but remain calm and quiet. Do I have your promise that you will not speak of what we say here outside of this room?"

Drizzt looked his sister in the eye quizzically, but spoke calmly. "You have my promise Vierna."

"Good," the high priestess replied, fiddling with the neckline of her shift. "I have brought you here today to talk about the future of our house. About my future, your future, Zaknafein's future. You heard Matron Malice earlier, she said that you are different. She called it madness. And she said that we all have it, to a degree."

Drizzt said nothing, but his posture showed his sister that he understood. She looked into his eyes for a brief moment, then asked him a question. "What do you think will happen when Matron Malice dies?"

Drizzt was shocked by the question, as Matron Malice seemed to him as immortal and immovable as the stone walls of Menzoberranzan, but he replied anyway. "Briza becomes the Matron Mother of House Do'Urden, I suppose," he muttered.

"Indeed," his sister replied, "and then Nalfein, Dinin, Zaknafein, yourself, myself, and Maya all become commoners. Briza will promote those like herself to positions of power, she will have a patron and children like herself, and we will all suffer. She cannot lead House Do'Urden."

"So you want to make Matron Malice live forever?"

"No, Drizzt, I want to make sure that Briza does not become Matron."

Drizzt's face paled to an ashen grey, and Vierna worried that she had spoken to fast, gone too far too quickly, and that her innocent brother would betray her intentions out of a sense of duty, or a misguided affection for his insane eldest sister. She began to speak quickly, to try and convince him to her side. "As our mother said, our family carries madness. For her and Briza, they enjoy creating suffering, but our mother also cares deeply for the success of this family, for her legacy, which is why we have become the eighth house so quickly, and why we will continue to rise. Briza cares not for any of that, only for her own enjoyment, only for the benefit to her of being the Matron Mother. She will ruin this house. Our madness is different. We care too much for the happiness of others. I care for the happiness of Matron Malice, my mother, and of Zaknafein, my father, and of you, my brother, and for the legacy of this House. You care for everyone, although you try to hide it, and Zaknafein cares for all who do not worship Lloth. I cannot let Briza destroy this family which is so different to the rest of Menzoberranzan, which means so much to me. Please help me Drizzt, as I cannot do this alone."

Drizzt was overwhelmed by the outpouring of passion, more than he had ever seen a drow elf other than Zaknafein. His heart could not stand to refuse, yet a life in Menzoberranzan had taught him caution, especially in situations out of his control. Betrayal and murder were indeed to be cautious about. The young warrior bowed his head cautiously. "So be it," he intoned, "I shall lend whatever necessary assistance I can safely provide, to ensure that you are Matron when Matron Malice goes to see the Spider Queen she loves so much."

* * *

Two days later Drizzt returned to Melee-Magthere, an astral panther at his call, and a heavy burden weighing upon him. Even the purest of souls could be clouded by Menzoberranzan. As he laid down to sleep he stroked the soft head of a deadly celestial cat, and murmured softly to her. "I do what I must, Guenhwyvar, so that my closest family can live."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hi. I'm alive. So's Briza. For now.


	17. An Education

**Chapter 17:**

The warm stone of the dormitory shone dully in the infrared spectrum of drow vision as Drizzt, restless, stared at the ceiling. By all rights he should have collapsed into sleep the moment he returned to the dormitory and summoned his guardian and friend, the astral panther Guenhwyvar, but even the excessive stresses of the day had not done enough to exhaust the churning sea that was the young drow's mind. It had been three days since he had returned to Melee-Magthere from his family's compound, and the Masters of Melee-Magthere had been pushing their students hard, making up in a few days for all the physical training that had been missed during their many cycles in the Hall of Lore. Already many drow elves had collapsed during the day, and the masters were merciless in these cases. But Drizzt had not slept, let alone slept peacefully. Each night he had subtly summoned Guenhwyvar, the astral panther emerging stealthily from the figurine he carried, and nuzzling her head into her master's hand. Even the presence of his guardian had not afforded Drizzt the comfort of sleep, however, and on the second night of his return he had been awake and aware when another student had entered his room, dagger in hand. Kelnozz of House Kenafin was flayed alive that night, his punishment for being caught breaking the rules. Drizzt's stomach had turned, but he knew better than to protest the punishment. Protestation was a greater crime than the initial offense, and Drizzt had no desire to take Kelnozz's place.

Drizzt stretched out his hand to rub the warm head of the great panther sharing his bed. Guenhwyvar nuzzled back. The two could not communicate with words, but Drizzt felt very close to the great cat. He knew that his companion had once been in service to the evil Masoj Hun'ett, and he felt a kinship with the noble beast. For Drizzt himself was in service to his evil mother and her wicked support of the Spider Queen, and entangled in a plot to murder his eldest sister, in service to the Lloth-serving plans of his other sister. Drizzt hoped that some day he, like Guenhwyvar, would be free of all service, free to find his place with those who shared the same values as himself. As the panther stretched out, wrapping Drizzt's slight but wiry frame in her protective embrace, the adolescent drow felt his eyes finally slip closed, and he drifted into the sweet solitude of sleep.

* * *

Narbondel rose from it's nadir, and Drizzt rose from his slumber. He quickly dismissed Guenhwyvar, not without a longing look and a fond touch, allowing the astral panther to return to it's home plane to rejuvenate after a long night of guarding the young warrior. Sliding quickly into his outer armor, the fine mithral chain flowing over his shoulders, the swordsman buckled on his twin scimitars, pulled on his boots, and replaced the dagger from under his pillow into his boot. The one from under the mattress went into his other boot, and a stiletto from behind the chest of his belongings found its way into a concealed sheath at the back of his belt. A bag of ceramic globes was quickly knotted onto a loop of his chain mail. Finally, he pulled on his _piwafwi_ , and without a sound slipped through the door and out of the room.

Rightly or wrongly, Matron Malice had instructed Drizzt not to even trust the food not to poison him, so he slipped into the back of the kitchens and pilfered a small but filling meal. He grimaced as he quickly swallowed it down, the bitter taste of drow war rations burning his throat, and washed it down quickly with water from a nearby barrel. Then he slipped back out and arrived first to the Weapons Hall being used by his class.

A large, vaulted cavern, this Weapons Hall was used to instruct the first year of drow elves in the basics of individual combat. Of course, the true basics had already been taught them in their houses, but the Masters of Melee-Magthere were among the greatest swordsmen in the city. Even Dinin, much as he was far less talented than his uncle, Zaknafein, and his brother Drizzt, was a superior swordsman to many of the Weapon Masters of Menzoberranzan. Drizzt was the first to arrive, and rather than taking a seat on one of the stone benches carved into the sides of the cavern, he stepped into the calf-deep water filling the central arena, snapping his scimitars out of their sheaths in a fluid motion, and dropping into a crouch to begin a warm-up routine. This was his fourth day, he mused, and the fourth day that the arena surface had been different. He wondered absently if the change was done by magic, or by excellent design. In the City of the Drow, one could never be sure. A high-pitched whistling snapped Drizzt out of his absent thoughts, and snapped his left-hand scimitar rapidly into the air to intercept a whirling hand-axe. "Congratulations, brother," came a snide remark from a shadowy corridor opening onto the arena, "you barely survived an obvious attack from a single enemy wielding a crude weapon. Be careful you fare better in future, or our mother will be _so_ disappointed."

Drizzt's face remained implacable. "I am merely lucky that you care so much for my well-being, _secondboy_ , that you seek to test me in this way. I am lucky indeed to have a _secondboy_ such as yourself protecting me."

Dinin was unable to smooth his face as Drizzt had, needled by the repeated comments about his status as secondboy. The elder drow had had his chance to escape the lowest noble station in the house, the day that Drizzt was born, but after that attempt failed, the opportunity was lost. The secondboy could not strike at Nalfein without having Drizzt become the secondboy, putting a deadly scimitar to Dinin's own back, and could not strike at thirdboy to remove the threat without risking the Spider Queen's wrath, and alerting the powerful elderboy to his plot at the higher position. Dinin was stuck in the middle, with no way out other than waiting for his mother's death. Matron Malice was barely middle aged for a drow however, so Dinin had a long and unhappy wait ahead of him.

* * *

Eventually the room filled up with drow students, and the instructors broke them into groups by weapon type, and challenged the groups with harder and harder drills. Looking around Drizzt could see even the weakest of the young warriors improving rapidly, assisted at times by the whips of the instructors. He himself dug deeper, challenged himself more, raising his personal target far above what the Masters required. A grimace reached his face and his heartbeat quickened, his breaths becoming more rapid, as he pushed to make his movements slightly faster, to reduce his wasted motion by even a fraction of a hair's width. Unlike the other drow elves in the room, Drizzt was less interested in the fact that improving his form could someday save his life, but cared more for the purity of his form. Ever since his first day training with Zaknafein, swordplay was more than a tool to him, but something higher, and Drizzt was committed to improving his abilities to the highest possible level.

It was a long and strenuous day in the water-filled arena, but as Narbondel was beginning to descend from its zenith, finally Master Hatch'net called a halt to the repetitive drills. Murmurs began and excitement tinged the air. With drills over for the day, it was time to spar.

The last few days Drizzt had been drawn either against low-ranked fighters or not at all, but as the Masters prepared the lots, he glanced over at his desired opponent. Only feet away stood Berg'inyon Baenre, thirdboy of House Baenre, First House of Menzoberranzan. But Drizzt cared little for titles, even though in the whole of Menzoberranzan only Berg'iyon and himself held the title of thirdboy. Drizzt cared more for the challenge the Baenre thirdboy presented. Berg'inyon had fallen easily in the final bout of the Grand Melee, too confident in his own lightness of foot being superior to Drizzt's sharpness of hearing, but Drizzt knew a repeat of that fight would not be so easy. Indeed, while Drizzt himself had defeated the most opponents, Berg'inyon had defeated more than his share, and with less opportunity, for while enemies had flocked to Drizzt's position due to Kelnozz's shouting, Berg'inyon had been silent throughout, not drawing attention from the many inferior warriors in the class.

The lots were drawn. Drizzt groaned as once again, Berg'inyon was drawn against a weak opponent, and groaned again as he also was drawn against no-one of interest. However, he drew his scimitars, went to his area of the arena, and defeated his opponent. All it took was a single routine, and the other drow, a spear-wielder, was defeated. Drizzt took a moment to look around the room, and then walked out, down one of the many hallways, and lost himself in the halls of the school of fighters, Melee-Magthere.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I didn't die. This took a back seat to my life though (I found one of those somewhere, it was a surprise to me too), so it's been a while. This chapter also actually took me longer than usual to complete. Also, apparently, R. A. Salvatore is planning to ruin my life and write a backstory novel for Zaknafein and Jarlaxle which will of course be completely not like how they are portrayed or historicized in this. But oh well. Also, I do really enjoy positive reviews, so if you feel like it...


	18. Basadoni

**Chapter 18:**

Drizzt won the tournament his second year as well, and his third year he was moved into the tournament of the year ahead. He won that one too. For all of his remaining years, he joined the tournament of the eldest age in Melee-Magthere. He won them all. At the end of his ninth year, Drizzt and his classmates had to finish their training, six months in the school of magic, Sorcere, followed by six months in the school of clerics, Arach-Tinilith.

The six months of training in Sorcere were interesting, and passed remarkably smoothly. For the first time, Drzzt was almost wistful that Zaknafein had exerted such effort into ensuring that Drizzt became a fighter and not a wizard. Indubitably due to his mother's influence, Drizzt trained with Erchaz, a commoner of House Do'Urden also finishing his final year, though his 30th, as opposed to Drizzt's 10th. But among the commoners of House Do'Urden Drizzt was in equal part a legend, talisman, and hero, as well as the matron's favored son, so Erchaz was nothing but a friend and tutor, making Drizzt's stay in Sorcere his most comfortable six months in Tier Breche. The final six months were not so easy.

The final six months of a drow warrior's education were spent in Arach-Tinilith, the school of clerics, being educated in the religion of Lloth, the Spider Queen, deity of Menzoberranzan. Her tenets, teachings of chaos, evil, and self-indulgence, warred against Drizzt's instincts. The young drow was intelligent and well-trained enough to never speak out openly about his feelings, but he felt weight burdening his soul every day at his refusal to resist the evil preachings of the Spider Queen's priestesses. Furthermore, Drizzt, used to being always top of the class, was now undeniably the worst student in all of Arach-Tinilith, and he felt disappointment from his sister Vierna, one of the Mistresses of the School, in every look she sent his way. But Drizzt persevered. And eventually the day came of graduation for Drizzt and his class from Tier Breche, almost fully fledged warriors of Menzoberranzan.

* * *

Around the time at which Drizzt was learning the ways of magic in Sorcere, Nalfein and Zaknafein were preparing their own returns to House Do'Urden. Zaknafein's ten years of service to Jarlaxle were nearly complete, as were Nalfein's years of study of the surface magic. To his great surprise, the drow wizard had discovered that the presence of magic on the Surface was in fact inherently different to its presence in the Underdark, but the parallels were such that any wizard of skill would have no problem adjusting his dweomers to compensate. Zaknafein was itching to be home, as was Nalfein, for Drizzt would soon graduate Melee-Magthere, for which Zaknafein was greatly excited, and Nalfein had been on the surface too long, and longed to return to his home.

However, before the pair of Do'Urdens could leave, they had one task remaining. Jarlaxle and his band of drow had made their mark on the surface in the nation of Calimshan, and ten long years of battles and betrayals had given Bregan D'Aerthe control over almost all of the criminal underworld in Calimshan. Only in Calimport was there any resistance remaining, in the form of Pasha Basadoni, leader of the city's powerful Thieves' Guild. Basadoni had been born into power, and now just entering his middle age, he was the most charismatic and the most ruthless of any of the remaining guildmasters. If Jarlaxle could crack this nut, then the remainder of Calimport would fall before him like dominoes, consolidating his power in the region.

Of course, destroying the power of House Basadoni would be no easy task, and Bregan D'Aerthe were not prepared for it, still recovering from the exertions of previous victories and trying to consolidate still their previous acquisitions. But Jarlaxle had been promised ten years' service from Nalfein and Zaknafein, and the wizard and warrior pair of House Do'Urden put any of Jarlaxle's own drow to shame. And so they needed to strike now. At the next sunrise, Zaknafein and Nalfein would begin their return journey to Menzoberranzan.

Bregan D'Aerthe struck an hour before sunset. Basadoni's estate stood on a slight hill in the city, without any other buildings within hundreds of feet and only the odd palm tree for shade. It was known that drow elves preferred to operate in the dark, away from the brightness of the sun that stung their sensitive eyes, and so the guards at the estate of Pasha Basadoni changed their shift at sunset. The next shift of guards had not yet arrived at the estate, and the current shift were ready to return to their homes, not expecting any trouble. The sleepy guards on duty at the gate only had a moment to recognize anything was wrong before a fireball ten times the size of a camel ended their lives in a mighty roar. All of a sudden, alarm horns blared and guards from all over the estate scrambled to arms and ran towards the pillar of acrid smoke now stretching out towards the sky.

Within minutes a melee was in full force by the front entrance, at the center of it Nalfein Do'Urden, calling down mighty magics with his staff, lightning and fire raining down on his enemies. All around him minor magic users and drow warriors were engaged in chaotic combat with thieves and thugs of all descriptions, petty cutthroats and bruisers, nimble burglars and swift pickpockets. The drow elves were outnumbered, but making slow progress through the thieves, though the corpses littering the ground were of many races, including the drow.

It was within the building that the real action was taking place, however. Jarlaxle had procured a potion of invisibility for both himself and Zaknafein, and the pair had used the potions to creep close to one of the many entrances to the building earlier in the day. They knew better than to try to enter a master thief's residence in disguise though. That was why they needed a distraction. Once the sounds of battle rang out, the two drow quickly but silently entered the building, silent feet trained by the unforgiving hard stone and silent hallways of the Underdark in a way that no surface dweller could match. Before long they came upon the first of Basadoni's inner circle of guards, but daggers flew from Jarlaxle's hand so quickly that the man barely even knew he was under attack before he died. Moments later, another thief flew around the corner. Zaknafein's whip cracked, and the theif lost his tongue, and then a slender drow sword lodged itself for a moment between his ribs, before being withdrawn. That was the end to their silent approach, however. Unseen in the blur of combat, a halfling dressed in fine silks spotted the two drow, then dashed away, rounding a corner then yelling to his comrades to come to the scene of the battle. It was only moments until the pursuing drow were met with a hail of crossbow fire.

As the bolts flew their way, Zaknafein swung his sword and whip in counteracting arcs, parrying away all the bolts coming towards him, before stowing the whip and unsheathing his other sword. In a heartbeat, both of Zaknafein's swords found the throats of Basadoni's men, and he stepped forward to engage another. In contrast, Jarlaxle merely lifted the hem of his cloak and spun a full circle, bolts clattering to the ground as they impacted on it, and drew a thin wand from his belt. Pointing it at a group of crossbowmen, he uttered the command word and a thin stream of liquid flew out, expanding as it traveled into a wide, sticky web. The white fibers covered the crossbowmen and Jarlaxle advanced nonchalantly, before quickly ending their lives. From there, it was only a few strides to the great double doors that marked the entrance to the Pasha's personal chambers. A quick command word and the pointing of another wand, and the doors blew open, exposing the room, and its six occupants.

Zaknafein recognized the six without difficulty. Surveillance of Pasha Basadoni's gang had been a priority for years. Jarlaxle's plans were always far longer in the making than in the execution. In the middle of the room, dressed in a light robe, holding two slender, gleaming daggers, was Pasha Basadoni himself, a tall, lithe man with a slight beard. To his right, a bear of a man, most likely with some orcish or even giant descent, Callaum Banebreath, wielding the greataxe Weeper, a heavily enchanted mithril weapon. Zaknafein had once seen it take the head off a dire wolf. Basadoni enjoyed beast fights. To his left, Elanna, First Thief of House Basadoni, holding a single jeweled dagger. In front of them three male halflings dressed in fine plate armor, carrying the largest repeating crossbows in all the Realms. It took Zaknafein only a moment to dive to the side, but even so one of the bolts glanced his shoulder, ripping through his chain mail and scoring a thin line on his skin. Rather than risk more bolts, the weapon master closed quickly with Banebreath. Too quickly. He was driven backward by a mighty swing, both of his swords together barely able to stand the mighty force of Weeper. On the back foot now, Jarlaxle had no choice but to quickly somersault backwards, out of reach of the mighty axe and back into the line of fire of the bolts. Another volley flashed towards him, and this time he was caught more fully, the bolt he couldn't dodge tearing away a portion of his cheek as the other two flashed by. He grimaced, but closed again with Callaum Banebreath, swords whirling to try to penetrate the large man's guard. Finally he managed to close to striking distance and glanced a blow off the larger man's chestplate, before opening up a deep cut on the brute's forearm. A knee to the chest sent the drow flying backwards, where he had time to evaluate the scene. Jarlaxle had quickly put down the woman, Elanna, and one of the halflings lay motionless as well, but the roguish drow was now put upon on all sides. The remaining halflings had drawn maces and were pressing Jarlaxle's dual dagger defense, and Basadoni, unafraid to get his hands dirty, was attacking Jarlaxle's flank. A young child had also appeared from nowhere, grey eyes seeming to suck in the light of the room, and was now wielding a jeweled dagger apparently lifted from Elanna's corpse. Zaknafein renewed his attack against Banebreath with vigor.

Two strokes later, it was over. Overextended, Callaum Banebreath slammed Weeper into the ground trying to hit Zaknafein, and the drow pinned the axe to the ground with his twin swords vaulting into the air to wrap his legs around the gargantuan warrior's neck. Faster than a single breath, a dagger was through the brute's head, and Zaknafein was moving to run a sword through the back of a halfling's armor. No sooner had he done that than Jalaxle finished the other one, and the two of them faced off with Basadoni and the young boy. The last moments of Basadoni's life came in a flash as Jarlaxle pumped his wrist, burying six daggers in the Pasha's unarmored stomach, in the same moment as Zaknafein disarmed the young boy. The sun had not yet set, and House Basadoni had fallen to Bregan D'Aerthe.

* * *

It was some time later that Nalfein arrived at the Pasha's chambers. Jarlaxle's other lieutenants, and the common soldiers of Bregan D'Aerthe were still searching, ransacking, and rebuilding, but Nalfein had no interest in that. He was only interested in leaving. The surface was wearing on him, and it was time to collect his traveling companion. Nalfein was shocked when he entered the Pasha's chambers through the rubble that had once held grand double doors and saw Jarlaxle and Zaknafein conversing in the common tongue with a small human boy wearing a jeweled dagger on his belt. "What are you doing talking to the _iblith_?"

"Ah, Nalfein, welcome," replied Zaknafein. "This young one is going to be coming with us. He showed great courage in defense of the Pasha, and he has agreed to join us in Menzoberranzan. I thought he would be a good companion for Drizzt."

Nalfein shook his head with disappointment. "You are too soft, Zaknafein. You should just have disposed of the _iblith_. You're soft as a mushroom, when you should be as the stone of the Underdark. But if you want Matron Malice to kill him instead of yourself, you can bring the small human rat."

Zaknafein looked Nalfein in the eye and smirked. "The _rat_ will be a great warrior one day - I can see it in his movement. And he has a name, I suggest you begin to use it. Certainly he is much more than _iblith_. The boy's name is Artemis Enteri."

* * *

 **A/N: You're welcome**


	19. Graduation

**A/N:** As previously stated, I hold no rights to the Legend of Drizzt series. This chapter will closely parallel Homeland Chapter 16: Sacrilege. This close parallel is key to the driving force of this _fan-fiction_ , which is a "what if" in which Drizzt's life goes slightly differently and he is more invested in drow society. He's no longer an outsider looking in, but an outsider on the inside with real ties to more than one other drow elf, and a better understanding of drow culture, and ever so slightly looser morals. Anyway, that's a long way of saying that the parallels here are not intended to be plagiarism, and I will try to avoid any direct quotation of the original text, but I am trying to basically write the same chapter. So yes, they will be similar. Also, go back and read the chapter. It's potentially my favorite one in the whole series. I only hope to do it justice.

 **Chapter 19:**

As Drizzt Do'Urden stood alone in his bedchamber in the School of Clerics, Arach-Tinilith, relief washed over him. "Not a moment too soon," he sighed, even his own sharp ears barely able to pick up on the whisper. Even alone, it was never wise to speak sacrilege in the school of the Spider Queen. Stoicism could only get one so far, and six months of hailing the ruler of the 66th layer of the Abyss was becoming more than the young warrior could take. But today was the final day, and as Drizzt pulled on his ceremonial robes, he could not help but reflect with pride on his achievements in Tier Breche. He had shown himself to be Menzoberranzan's most talented young fighter, learned a modicum of wizardry, and tolerated six months of crazed religious fanaticism.

Yet Drizzt was not entirely content. The Spider Queen was integral to Menzoberranzan of course, but in his soul Drizzt could not abide by the rule of the wicked deity. It sickened him that he and his family would forever be servants of the malicious goddess, never able to escape the cycle of cruelty, and it disgusted him to see his classmates, the future of the drow race, drink in the dogma spewed by the priestesses without a second thought. He could only hope that others like him were in the room, hiding their true thoughts behind a mask as he did, that their enthusiastic shouts of praise to Lloth were as carefully manufactured as his own, and that perhaps one day he would live to see Menzoberranzan emerge at least slightly from Lloth's shadow. Drow elves had long lives, and he could only hope to live long enough.

Now though, it was the last day, and Drizzt was required to be in attendance at the Ceremony of Graduation, a day of praise and glory to the Spider Queen. The exact contents of the ceremony were unknown to Drizzt, but he couldn't possibly imagine a ceremony dedicated to Lloth, taking place in the school of her priestesses, could be anything but profane. He imagined there would be spiders, but that was merely idle speculation.

* * *

The first thing he noticed upon entering the ceremonial room of Arach-Tinilith was the light. Drizzt shielded his eyes and looked around, taking in the features of the circular room by the painful, flickering light of an eight-legged brazier. As expected, the decorations of the room were heavily spider themed. Drizzt made his way along the wall to where his classmates from Melee-Magthere stood, and was directed to his place at the head of the line by Dinin. Next to him stood Berg'inyon Baenre, and the other warrior held his gaze for the merest of moments before returning to observe the fire.

Drizzt used the time before the great doors slammed shut to observe the room. In the middle, ringed around the brazier, sat all the high priestesses of the Academy, instructors with whom, and with whose snake-headed whips, Drizzt had become familiar in the past months. Vierna was among them, and Drizzt noticed a bead of sweat trickle from her forehead down to her lips, which she licked absently. Whatever ritual was about to take place, Drizzt surmised, the priestesses were already well into their preparations. Raising his eyes from his sister, Drizzt scanned the rest of the room. To his right stood the warriors of Melee Magthere, and to their right the priestesses of Arach Tinilith, all garbed in ceremonial robes, tied with a simple sash at the waist. Scanning their faces he saw only one or two looking nervous, and a number looking positively predatory. To Drizzt's left stood the masters of Melee Magthere, and next to them the Masters of Sorcere. Across the room from him were the wizards graduating from Sorcere. Many seemed to be seating in the heat of the brazier, and they seemed as a whole to be unable to keep from twitching, unlike the warriors of Melee Magthere, disciplined from years of practice, patrols, and physical activity.

After a few minutes, the great doors slammed shut, and through a small door away to Drizzt's left entered a young drow female, a graduating cleric of Lloth, first in her class at Arach-Tinilith. The graduating students had been told that she would be getting the highest honor of the ceremony, but the details of that honor had not been expounded upon. Drizzt swallowed firmly as the shapely young female slipped off her robe, baring her figure to the room, and stepped lightly into the circle of priestesses, coming to a stop next to the brazier. Only what happened next could have torn Drizzt's eyes away from her, and he was sure the same was the case for many of the drow in the room.

Seated in the circle of priestesses, the matron mistress of the Academy spoke. " _Bae-go si'n'ee calamay_ " the elder drow uttered in a hoarse whisper, and the flames of the brazier roared higher, the sudden light causing Drizzt to turn his head away. With the flames came smoke, sickly sweet in aroma and Drizzt tried to keep his breaths shallow. All the same, within moments, he was feeling lightheaded, and he watched somewhat detached as the young cleric spoke. " _Glabrezu_ ," she called, quietly at first, then louder, encouraged by a snake-headed whip. " _Glabrezu_ ," cried the young female, voice rising in either terror or ecstacy. Drizzt could not find it within him to care, feeling only the haze of the smoke and an idle curiosity as the figure of a four-armed demon, dog-headed with goat horns, appeared in the flames.

Suddenly Drizzt was struck with a feeling of horror as he understood the purpose of the ritual. Only self-control forged by a lifetime of silence in the face of Lloth's horrifying edicts kept him from cursing the name of the Spider Queen and rushing in to save the beautiful priestess from the demon. That same self-control dealt to Drizzt another blow, the realization that other than him, everyone else in the room wanted this, saw this as a sign of the benevolence of Lloth. And once more, as he had done all his life, Drizzt resigned himself to the fact that this was how things were in Menzoberranzan.

* * *

Drizzt felt almost like an observer in his own body, heady fumes mixing with rigid self-control to disassociate the young warrior from his emotions, and he watched dispassionately as the ceremony unfolded into it's true form. As the demon formed fully in the Material Plane, the summoning priestesses unfurled themselves from the ground, and languidly prowled towards the young males that struck their fancy, divesting themselves of the silky ceremonial robes on their way. Within moments the graduating priestesses, other than the one engaged with the glabrezu, followed their lead, and started picking out young males of their own. Almost as a single mind, the males began to make their way into the center of the room, making themselves available to the females, and also divesting themselves of the useless robes.

In his somewhat clear state of mind, Drizzt noted a number of priestesses on a direct line towards where he and Berg'inyon stood, and the predatory look on the priestesses' faces made him shudder. Subtly he nudged the Baenre towards the females, and Berg'inyon seemed more than willing to go. Drizzt himself skirted the room towards the door, hoping to avoid any unfortunate entanglements.

Almost at the door Drizzt collided into the soft flesh of a naked drow female. His eyes travelled from her feet up to her face, and the young warrior felt his body react to her shapely legs and smooth curve of her hips. Blood rushed to his face as he caught full sight of her buxom breasts, standing proud on her chest, and drained again all of a sudden as he locked eyes with his sister, Vierna Do'Urden.

Drizzt felt his eyes widen and his pulse quicken as he stared at the nude form of his sister. Vierna was an attractive drow female, tall and muscled, but sleek and curved in all the right places, though not necessarily beautiful. Dazed from smoke inhalation, Drizzt could only watch as his sister stared into his violet eyes with her own red ones, and spoke huskily, "Are the others not to your liking, Drizzt? There are many powerful priestesses in this room who would enjoy a powerful male such as yourself, and it would be unwise to refuse them." As Drizzt tried to take a moment to collect his thoughts, and fully realize the consequences of spurning the advances of a powerful priestess, Vierna spoke again. "It is the will of the Spider Queen that those who enter this room do not leave until the ceremony is complete. Do not forget that it is she who truly determines the rise and fall of the houses of Menzoberranzan."

Drizzt's shoulders slumped with resignation, but despite his awareness of the situation his conscience would not allow him to remain silent. "But I do not wish to lie with any of these priestesses," he muttered bitterly. "I don't know them, and they only wish to use me because of what I have accomplished in Melee-Magthere, and nothing else."

Vierna smiled upon seeing his defeat, and a lascivious smirk came over her features. "I understand," she crooned, "poor Drizzt, to work so hard only to be unwanting of the reward of his labors. But perhaps," she paused for a moment, tongue running across her lips, "I can offer you an alternative you may enjoy. Fulfil Lloth's desire with me, Drizzt," she purred, "for surely I value you for more than mere achievements in the school of fighters, and you cannot claim not to know me." With that final statement she tugged gently on the sash holding Drizzt's robe closed and it came undone, unveiling the full body of the young drow. Between the smoke, lust for the attractive female in front of him, and his powerlessness beneath the shadow of the Spider Queen, Drizzt gave in to his body's needs.

* * *

Drizzt awoke in the morning with the feeling that his mouth had been filled with fungal pods and his tongue had been replaced with an Underdark slug, and his head pounding like an angry Duegar on an anvil. Once he finally mustered the willpower to open his eyes, he took stock of the room. Naked drow were strewn across the ground, along with fine sulfuric powder and bodily fluids of various types. Drizzt winced as the headache came crashing in once again, and heaved a bodily groan as memories of the previous night came in. Thoughts of the last night's activities flooded through his mind, and troubled his soul, though he knew in truth there was little he could have done to avoid any of it. Not for the first time, he inwardly cursed that he had been born in Menzoberranzan, and yet he could not truly say he wished to leave. He cared deeply for too many of his family, and for his House.

Fortunately Drizzt did not have too long to contemplate the events of the night before. Within a few minutes the matron mother of the Academy rose from her own post-coital slumber and stood shamelessly, displaying a body that had aged gracefully, though clearly significantly, and called out to awaken the room. A few minutes of hasty organization took place, and robes and undergarments were found, and then the great doors of the ceremonial room were opened, allowing the newly graduated students to proceed out towards the main gate of the Academy. Three lines were formed, which the top students of each school led. Drizzt noticed with a grimace that the top student of Arach-Tinilith had been replaced by the second in the class. Nobody asked for an explanation.

Eventually the procession stopped at the main gate, and a few words were spoken by the matron mother, before the students filed out, leaving the Academy behind. Drizzt was the first to leave, and within moments was whisked away by Vierna and Dinin. Matron Malice had given orders, and the Do'Urdens were going home.

* * *

 **A/N: I enjoy reviews. Significantly. So much, in fact, that I am willing to write chapters for them. And how hard is it, really, to type a couple of words? You know, I do enjoy reviews.**


	20. Unfolding

**Chapter 20:**

"Matron Malice," Dinin spoke, bowing deeply. "We have returned with the boy, unharmed and unhindered, as you commanded." The three drow who only hours before had been residents of Tier Breche stood in the warmth of the Do'Urden compound throne room, lined up before the judgemental eye of the powerful Matron of the eighth house.

Malice eyed her children, casting her weighty gaze on each in turn, before finally breaking her own silence, "But a boy no longer, I believe, _secondboy_. My _third_ living son is a man now, having graduated first in his class, so much like my own elderboy, so little like his other brother." Dinin's cool visage cracked slightly under Matron Malice's verbal onslaught, but Drizzt did not let down his guard for a second. No matron mother would ever truly take the side of any of her children, not when pitting them against each other would secure her own position far more effectively.

It appeared Malice noticed this, and gave a slight nod of approval, before continuing. "As you yourself know, _secondboy_ , it is incumbent on our newly graduated warriors to join the patrols around the borders of our fair city. And their instructors too," she added sharply. "Never forget that we are constantly at war with the other houses, declared or otherwise. I expect both of you to come back _alive_ from these patrols, and with the reputation of House Do'Urden firmly intact. I shall be greatly displeased if this does not come to pass. Do not disappoint me." The final words were whispered as the formidable matron turned to face her daughter. "And Vierna," she drawled, "We are so fortunate to have you back. I am sure you would love to take over the maintenance of the chapel from your sister Briza. Surely you have learned much as a mistress of Arach-Tinilith which shall be put to great use serving Lloth." Drizzt's sharp eyes peripherally spotted the momentary flicker in Vierna's face that showed her displeasure at the assignment, but he didn't think it was possible that either Malice or Dinin, sharp-eyed as all drow are, could have perceived it.

He understood his sister's disappointment. Tending the chapel was a full-time effort, which was no burden for Briza, position already established as Malice's heir. But for Vierna, the matron's second daughter, there was no prestige or power to be gained from the solitary task. And it left limited time for scheming.

Before he knew it, the meeting was dismissed and the siblings left, taking their own paths through the compound. Drizzt found himself lost in thought, imagining the thrills and sights of patrols. The young drow had never left the great cavern of Menzoberranzan, and could only guess at what awaited him in the greater reaches of the Underdark. Hook horrors, displacer beasts, cave fishers, Drizzt couldn't wait to test his skills against all manner of foes. The excitement was his undoing, however, as he didn't even notice a muscled arm snake out of a shadowy side passage until it grabbed him by the throat.

* * *

Zaknafein and Nalfein were making slow progress. It had taken the two drow and their young charge days to return to the cave from which they had exited the Underdark years ago, and only then did the obvious occur to them. Young Artemis, for all his talent, was still a human. And humans didn't do very well without light. Naturally, with a wizard as accomplished as Nalfein in their small band, a quick dweomer was easily able to rectify the situation, but the necessity to constantly prepare and use the same spell of darkvision wore on Nalfein's patience, as well as preventing the preparation and use of other dweomers that would ease their passage.

The other reason for the slow going was lessons. Despite Nalfein's lack of confidence in Zaknafein's plan, the younger elf understood that a loyal, powerful companion for Drizzt could only be in his own favor, and the cost of failure was negligible, only the price of a human life. So Nalfein did his part, instructing the boy in the intricate hand and facial code of the drow, as well as some of the simpler mental exercises required for utilizing magic items. The boy would be a fighter, that much was certain, but Nalfein knew the fighter was much more powerful who could use magical tools than the one who could not. Zaknafein, for his part, taught the boy balance. They had not yet moved onto using weapons, though Artemis would not let the jeweled dagger out of his reach, even in his sleep. Zaknafein merely drilled the young human on graceful poise, on moving swiftly but sleekly, perfecting his footwork before even beginning to think about the use of arms. And thus, progress was slow.

They had not encountered too many monsters, but Zaknafein was hardly surprised by this. The highest reaches of the Underdark were relatively clear of dangerous beasts or powerful nations. Only kobolds, goblins, and the like inhabited this area, and the weak goblinoids were too intelligent to show themselves to an enemy with the reputation of the drow. The real test, Zaknafein mused, would come later, at the farthest reaches of Mezoberranzan's influence, the region to which the drow patrols forced the deadly creatures native to Menzoberranzan's sphere. In this no-man's land, the concentration of deadly monsters was high, and Nalfein and himself would have to be careful to avoid letting the boy come to harm.

* * *

Drizzt wheezed as his back slammed against the wall, and his vision blurred and swam. Eventually his eyesight came back into focus, upon the snarling visage of his sister, Briza. Drizzt was not overly shocked by the identity of his assailant. No other but Matron Malice in the entire household would dare to do what Briza had done, and he had just come from an audience with the powerful matron. However, lack of surprise did not mean that the young male was not furious.

"It's so nice to see you, sister," Drizzt choked out sarcastically, "How I have missed your tender touch in these times that I have been gone."

Drizzt's remark cost him a broken nose. "The only tender touch you've missed, or so I have heard," the vicious priestess barked back. "Tell me, young Drizzt, do you think I know so little? My sister is up to something, and you will not allow yourself to be caught up in it, unless you wish to face the full extent of my wrath!" The hand gripping Drizzt's throat tightened, and adolescent's vision swam once more. He tried to remain calm, knowing he had only seconds before he would have to break the cardinal rule of drow society and strike at his sister if he wished to live. Suddenly the pressure relaxed, and he dropped to the floor, crumpling into a ball, heaving breaths coming short and sharp. Then came a barrage of strikes with the cruel snake-headed whip, and the world went dark.

* * *

 **A/N: I've had a lot going on.**


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